See My Friends
by cherry-sodas
Summary: The year 1968 was signalized by a single piece of mail, a terrible and senseless request, which undoubtedly, no one would ever forget. [AU. Direct sequel to 'Impatience and Impulsivity.' Embedded into the 'Arrogance and Aggression' universe.]
1. Chapter 1

**This story, which obviously takes place in the 'Arrogance and Aggression' universe, picks up hours after its direct precursor, 'Impatience and Impulsivity.' The stories all connect, and they can be read in any story order, but this particular story is very much linked to the events of that one. **

**As for the froth that can be found all over 'A&A' and throughout 'I&I…' say goodbye to a lot of it. This is what we in the business (read: me, in my imagination) call "the trauma fic."**

**Also, keep in mind, we're in the midst of a Dally redemption arc. So, if you're like, "Why is he just ... like this?" ... that's part of it. :)**

* * *

The year 1968 was signalized by a single piece of mail, a terrible and senseless request, which doubtless, no one would ever forget. Sodapop Curtis sat at his family's kitchen table and kept staring at the thing in his grasp, wondering how in the world (yet knowing full well) it had had gotten there.

Dallas Winston leaned forward and nearly snatched the thing out of the kid's hands. His wife, Ms. Lucy Bennet (And she wanted everyone to know it was _Ms., _not "Miss Bennet" or "Mrs. Winston."), stared daggers at him to keep him from doing something she could make him regret. He rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair, knowing that whatever he was going to say was the wrong thing.

"Man, why do you keep lookin' at it like that?" Dally asked. "Ya think it's gonna change color or somethin'?"

"Dally," Lucy said.

"What?"

Lucy sighed and rushed to the other side of Soda at the kitchen table. He'd been alone and babysitting Lucy and Dally's eleven-month-old daughter, Elenore, when he'd received his draft card. In retrospect, they all should have been expecting it. Two-Bit and Steve were in Vietnam already; Dally had been exempt back in '66 on account of Lucy getting pregnant with Elenore. It was only a matter of time before the wind blew Soda away, too.

"And you really haven't told anyone else?" Lucy asked.

Soda shook his head.

"Naw. I wouldn't have even told you two if ya hadn't come by to pick up Elenore. I just couldn't hold it in anymore. Had to … had to tell somebody."

It hurt worse than almost anything to hold in his tears in front of Dally. He'd changed a lot since he married Lucy (and even more since Elenore had been born), but that didn't mean it was OK to cry in front of him. That would probably always feel wrong.

"What about Sadie?"

"Ya think I'm gonna call Sadie on her wedding night? You're crazy."

But just like on cue, Sadie, looking distraught in the same white dress she'd worn to city hall when she and Johnny got married earlier that day, burst through the front door. For the first time all evening, Soda looked up from his draft card and ran to the doorway to hug his twin sister.

"I ran out of there so fast," Sadie said. "Johnny must think I abandoned him."

"Ya know, I don't think that's really somethin' we should joke about," Dally said.

Sadie eyed him curiously, not sure what he and Lucy were doing there. Off her look, Dally got up from his chair at the kitchen table and walked toward Sadie's room (Sadie's former room now, which was strange to think about, even for Dally).

"I'm gonna go check on Elenore. She was fussin'."

"If she starts cryin', I got another 45 of 'Goodnight, Irene' in there," Soda said. "You're welcome."

Dally waved his hand at the kid before turning the corner and walking into Sadie's room to see Elenore. It was already the most bizarre day that anyone in that house had ever seen.

"Did you really just up and leave Johnny?" Soda asked Sadie.

"No, not for real," Sadie said. "Told him I couldn't shake this feeling that you were in trouble, and I had to see you right away. When Lucy and Dally were here, I figured I had to be right. Please don't tell me I'm right."

Soda didn't say anything. He tried to form his tongue around the words, but none of the right ones came out. Lucy, who noticed his struggle, popped up from her place at the kitchen table and tried to help him.

"Dally and I are only here because we asked Soda to babysit Elenore," Lucy said. "We needed a little alone time after the wedding, and we knew he'd be home. We're just picking her up."

Sadie shook her head.

"That's not all," she said. "I know that's not all, Lucy. I don't get these feelings in my blood when I'm far away from him for that to be all."

Lucy sighed and hung her head. She really didn't want to be the one to have to tell Sadie about what Soda had received in the mail that day, and thankfully, she didn't have to be. Soda finally found the right words.

"You're not wrong, Sadie Lou," he said. "That ain't all."

He picked his draft card off the table and handed it to her. In the meantime, Lucy snuck out of the room and went to go check on Dally and Elenore, well aware that this was not her place.

Sadie was the first person to touch the draft card apart from Soda himself. Neither of them really knew why, but it felt significant at the time that they were the only two people to touch it – like the experience was Sadie's, too, in some way.

"What's this?" she asked, but judging by the crack in her voice, she knew.

Soda didn't know what else to say, so he swallowed back another round of would-be tears and just said, "I gotta go."

Sadie shook her head. It was her worst nightmare, and after being eighteen for a whole year without hearing a word, she stupidly thought that Soda was safe. If she could have gone with him, she would have. Maybe she still could. She'd read both _Twelfth Night _and _As You Like It_. They'd been pretty decent guidebooks on how to walk like a man. If it meant sticking close to Soda … the most vulnerable part of herself…

"Don't start cryin'," Soda said. "I don't want you cryin'."

"How am I supposed to _not_?"

"'Cause you got married today. And I could be wrong, but I don't think husbands are usually too happy about it when their new wives up an' leave 'em on the wedding night to go be with their brothers."

"Johnny can wait."

"Sadie."

"He can _wait_."

Soda took one step back from his twin and sighed. He could always count on her to know more about himself than even he did. That night, Sadie knew that Soda couldn't handle being alone. She knew that Darry or Ponyboy or Jane Randle wouldn't understand what Soda was feeling in the same way that she could. She would give Johnny a call and tell him they'd have to push back their wedding night. In that moment, the only thing that mattered was Soda – keeping that most vulnerable part of herself, the one that existed outside of herself, safe and secure.

Before Soda knew it, he had stepped closer to Sadie again, and closer still. She flung her arms around him and pulled him close to her chest. After a few seconds of silence and stillness, Sadie was confused. She'd expected Soda to bawl into her shirt like he always did. He'd shed far more tears for what felt like much less, like when they were ten years old, and Soda lost Mickey Mouse, or when they were seventeen, and Soda broke up with Jane Randle because he thought it was the noble thing to do. But for this – the moment he learned he was going to have to go to a place he'd never been for a reason he wasn't entirely sure of – he was firm. Sadie squeezed him tighter, maybe in an effort to get him to cry. It wasn't that she wanted him to be sad. What she wanted was a status quo, and Soda's being a bawl baby was a big part of that.

But that night, he wasn't crying. Sodapop Curtis wasn't crying about being shipped off to a place he might never come back from, Dallas Winston was in the back of the Curtis house trying to be a good husband and a good daddy, and Sadie Lou Curtis was now-and-forever Sadie Lou Cade. The status quo that Sadie so craved had walked out back and shot itself, and it wouldn't be back.

* * *

On their way home, Lucy and Dally tried not to think about Soda. This, of course, proved impossible. Without knowing it for certain, they both knew that he'd be sent to the frontlines. For Lucy, this translated into _instant death_. She knew that Soda was every bit as tough as he was kind, but she also knew that the war was tougher. And to think, in the past eleven months, there were moments where she watched him play with Elenore and thought maybe he wouldn't be drafted at all. Maybe, by the grace of God or the U.S. government, it would miss him. She pictured herself a few years down the line, showing old pictures to Elenore. Those pictures wouldn't mean anything if Elenore couldn't recognize Soda in them. Suddenly, Lucy felt very ill.

Though he wasn't going to say anything, Dally felt twice as sick about the thought of Soda going to war. Part of him felt guilty (despite his not knowing the precise word for it), as he'd been able to escape the draft where Soda couldn't. As much as he loved his baby (a surprise to him and everyone around him), he knew he was the one who deserved to go fight for and lose his life in Vietnam. The world _needed _Sodapop Curtis. It didn't exactly need Dallas Winston. Dally himself was sure of it. Every time Soda's eyes flickered back to that card between his middle and index fingers, there was a part of Dally that wanted to stand up and take his place. Even though he knew he couldn't, he never even told Soda that he wanted to. It would have pissed Lucy right off, he _did _want to see Elenore grow up, and for the first time in his life, he gave a damn whether he lived or died. He wanted – however bizarre or unfitting – to live. He wanted Soda to live, too, and it was looking less and less likely to him as the seconds wore on.

They put Elenore down in her crib, quietly thankful that she was becoming a sound sleeper. As they climbed into their own bed, Dally let out a long and audible sigh. He could feel, based on the way Lucy carried herself as they walked home, that she wanted to make it one of _those _nights. They were supposed to be good for him, and he knew that. There were even moments where he welcomed it. But that didn't mean he enjoyed it.

"I know what you're gonna say," he said.

"Do you?" Lucy asked. "Because I was pretty sure I hadn't said anything."

"Yeah, but after what happened to Soda, d'you really expect me to believe it's not on your mind?"

Lucy frowned. She liked that her husband cared enough to know her as well as he did, but there was always a dimension of frustration that came along with intimacy. _Oh well_, she thought. _At least he cared enough to be intimate at all_.

"OK, you're right," Lucy said.

"Knew it. I'm always fuckin' right."

"We're both always right. We're a package."

"I think that's the first time you ever let somebody share bein' right with you."

"Hmm, well, if it had to be anyone."

Dally almost smiled. He leaned back and tried to get into position to sleep, but Lucy practically chased after him. He wasn't sure how she'd managed to chase him in bed, of course. That didn't matter. As far as he was concerned, Lucy could do anything.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm goin' to sleep, Bennet. It's Friday. You know how early Elenore likes to wake up on Saturday. It's like she knows we both got Saturdays off."

"Oh, c'mon. I _saw _the look in your eye when Soda showed you his draft card. Isn't it … I don't know, isn't it something we should talk about?"

Dally snorted and tried to roll over on his side so that he didn't have to face Lucy anymore. She beat him to the punch and grabbed him around his stomach so that he had to look at her. Granted, she hadn't really bested him. He just didn't want to resist her. He wanted to have this conversation, regardless of it would bring. It was odd. That didn't mean it wasn't true.

"When did you get all soft on me?" he asked.

"You're one to talk."

"I ain't soft. Think I proved that to ya this afternoon, but I ain't gonna complain if you need a reminder."

"Will you stop … oh-happy-daggering me?"

"Huh?"

Lucy rolled her eyes. She'd been spending too much time around Jane as Sadie prepared to get married, and Jane still truly believed that _Romeo and Juliet _was a romance instead of a domestic tragedy. All of a sudden, she thought of Jane and how devastated she would be to find out about Soda. It was too much for Lucy to process all at once, so she turned her full attention back to her husband and his own repressive hypothesis.

"Doesn't matter," she said. She rested her chin on his shoulder, and after almost three years together (It no longer sounded strange to admit they were _together_, in all things and at all times.), she was still surprised he didn't try to jerk away. Her voice dropped an octave when she next spoke to him. The lower and slower she spoke, the more likely Dally always was to listen to her. After nearly three years together, she'd figured parts of him out.

"What were you thinking about when Soda showed you his draft card?" Lucy asked. "I saw your eyes. You went away again."

Lucy loosened her grip around her husband's midsection, trusting him enough to know that he wouldn't try to leave. Dally exhaled again. He wondered how long he could stay quiet and stoic before Lucy finally gave up on him. But he wasn't stupid. He knew that it didn't matter how reticent he was. Lucy Bennet wasn't going to give up on him. She didn't give up on anything, even when she probably should.

"I was thinkin' about this one night when I was about twelve or somethin'," Dally finally said. "Happy?"

"With something unspecific? No. Can't say I am."

"Why's it matter if I talk to you about this shit, anyway?"

Although Lucy tipped her head toward Elenore's crib to remind him, she hadn't needed to. Anything he did now was because of Elenore. He was going to do right by her if it killed him. Dally had spent so much of his youth trying to prove everybody right – getting busted for things he could've gotten away with, getting drunk so he didn't have to be sober, getting beat up when he probably could've bested even the best after a while, among other things. He thought it was what he was supposed to do; thought the fate of the world rested on him being a fuck-up. Then he met Lucy, who was as big a fuck-up as he was (in a different way), but she was the kind of fuck-up he couldn't live without. Now that they had Elenore, it was worth it to stay alive. Now that they had Elenore, it was Dally's pleasure to prove them wrong.

"I'm in the park with a buddy of mine," Dally began, confused by how easily the words were falling out of his mouth. Lucy had that effect on him, he supposed. "He's … I don't know, he's a couple years older than me, I guess. Not much in the way of role modelin', but he's all I got. This scrawny-lookin' girl, 'bout my age, I think, runs up to him. He says she's his sister. I don't think nothin' of it, not even that I got a sister back in Tulsa I haven't heard from in a year. But this guy's sister starts tellin' him about a pal of his who tried to stick his hands down her pants. An' she's _twelve_. An' ya know what that buddy of mine says to her?"

"I'm afraid to ask."

"He says, 'I don't care.' Some fuckin' guy tries to mess with his sister, and he says he doesn't care. And I'm thinkin' I nearly got myself killed for tryin' to help my sister. So I say somethin' to him, and he tells me I'm a …"

He paused and looked at Lucy, who was still listening intently. It was the strangest thing. Before, he would have thought that somebody like Lucy was only listening to him and his memories – the ones he had so long tried to drink and beat away – to feel better about herself, like he was an intellectual charity case or some shit. But that wasn't the look on his wife's face. She looked at him like she was there _for him_, not for her own edification. That was how the parole officer's wives always looked at him, but Lucy couldn't have been different.

"I ain't gonna say it 'cause I know you don't like it," Dally finally said. "Ya know, when guys use girls' words to make each other look bad."

"I know."

"Yeah. Well, I didn't wanna be what he said I was. If carin' about somebody made you a girl, then I didn't wanna care about nobody."

Lucy shot him a look, as if to say that he couldn't keep up such an attitude if he was going to be her husband or a father to his daughter. Off her look, he reminded her that he was twelve.

"Sure," Lucy said.

"But I kept thinkin' about how it really wasn't different. Ya know, what happened with that kid and his sister and what happened with me and mine."

Lucy nodded. In the past year, Dally had been trying to work through a number of traumatic memories – some he'd repressed all the way and some he'd been refusing to let himself completely or correctly remember since they'd happened. His most painful memory occurred in his childhood kitchen – in the same house where his younger sister, Violet, who was now eighteen, still lived, though their father was scarcely around these days. It was shortly after their mother's suicide, and Dally had discovered that the old man's friends had been beating up on Violet when Dally wasn't looking. When Dally finally noticed, he tried to beat up the old man for enabling it, and he almost killed Dally for it. That was the night Dally hopped a Greyhound and made his way to New York by himself, not even thinking about taking Violet's hand and pulling her out of the very place he knew was causing her pain. He hadn't cared about anyone except for himself, and he thought he was still paying for it. He was working on it. Lucy was listening. It was the only thing she could do, though Dally made it abundantly clear that he wished she could do more. Lucy wished it, too, but she knew better.

"Why did Soda's draft card make you think about that?"

Dally was quiet for a long time. He knew exactly what he wanted to say. He always did. After all, he was Lucy's intellectual equal (according to Lucy herself, anyway). The problem was that almost never liked to speak at the rapid-fire pace that she preferred. With time, she'd gotten better at slowing down – at allowing space for his emotional obstinacy and cerebral wit to catch up to one another. But Dally could still feel Lucy's wheels turning in her head. He would have done anything to make her stop thinking so loudly.

"I don't think Soda's gonna die over there," Dally said. He knew he was right, too. If Dally had gone, he would have died. There wouldn't have been much more to him than a body if Elenore hadn't come along. Soda was different. There was plenty more to Soda than soldiering and dying.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He ain't gonna die there. But it's gonna kill him to leave that girl."

Lucy nodded.

"You're right," she said. "He loves Jane."

"I ain't talkin' about her. I'm talkin' about Sadie. 'F I got regrets about leavin' V behind when we was kids, ya know Soda ain't even gonna be able to leave Sadie."

Lucy swallowed hard and fell flat on her back, not sure she wanted to keep the conversation going after all. As she left the Curtis house that night, she saw how destroyed Sadie looked. She didn't say anything to her, knowing that anything out of anyone's mouth would have only served to make things worse. But Lucy knew. Who was so bold to think they could separate a woman from her reflection (and a man from his)?

"Ya think he can knock Jane up in the next couple days?" Dally asked.

Lucy didn't answer. She knew it would never work. It may have ripped her heart out to think of Soda leaving (leaving Sadie, leaving Jane, leaving _Elenore_, who loved him more than almost anybody in the world), but in that same heart, she knew the difference. He was supposed to go. It took her back to something Sadie said years earlier, when she recounted a story about being stood up for a Valentine's Day dance in '62.

"That's the way it's supposed to be," Sadie had said. "That's the way it'll always be. He'll go, and I'll stay."

Sadie wasn't wrong. When it came to Soda, she never was. Lucy reached for her husband's hand under the blankets, and he took it, which still took her by a small surprise. She felt nothing but guilt. She knew she should have been mourning the loss of Soda at home, even though he hadn't gone anywhere yet; even though Dally was certain he wouldn't die. She knew that. Still, Lucy was relieved. At least, she thought (and hated herself for thinking it), she hadn't lost her other half.

"Thank you for telling me the truth," she said, her voice so quiet she wasn't sure Dally could hear her at all.

Except, of course, he did.

* * *

Darry and Pony reacted exactly as Soda and Sadie predicted they would. When Soda showed the draft card to Darry, he curtly nodded his head one time and asked if there was anything he could do to help before then. Sadie knew (better than Soda did) that he'd break down and cry when they weren't looking, but he knew better than to break down in front of them. That would give them more reason to be afraid.

After a few moments of confusion, Ponyboy began to cry a little and managed, somehow, to turn his anxieties about Soda in Vietnam into anxieties about Soda leaving him behind. It was lots of, "I don't know what I'm gonna do if you're not here" and "You mean I'm gonna start college, and you ain't even gonna be around?" He must have come up with thirty different ways to ask the same two terrible questions. Sadie put up with it for about an hour, but she could tell that Soda's own patience was wearing thin. Nobody liked it when Soda couldn't take it anymore and finally yelled at them – Soda liked it least of all – but Sadie's yelling was just a fact of life and had been since she was a little girl.

"Goddamn it, Pony!" she snapped.

"Why are you yellin' at me?" he yelled back.

"Because your brother's gettin' drafted, and you're sittin' here, worried and cryin' that he ain't gonna be here when you and Carrie finally stop pretendin' like all you care about is … thinkin' and talkin' about thinkin'."

"That ain't fair."

"No, _you _ain't fair."

Soda looked at her, his eyes pleading with her to stop before either of them got out of hand. Sadie saw the look on his face and dismissed it. Soda had spent their whole lives trying to protect and stomp for her. The least she could do now was try to rally for him, even if she was taking it out on Ponyboy.

"How?" she asked, her voice shrill and tired at the same time. "How could you have _possibly _found a way to make this about you?"

"'Cause when he goes, I'm gonna be alone!"

"What are you talkin' about?"

"I'm talkin' about how Soda went and got himself drafted on the same day you married my best friend. That's what I'm _talkin' _about, Sadie."

Sadie took a step back and folded her arms across her chest. It didn't seem right to yell at Ponyboy anymore. That was a conversation for another time … when they'd all processed Soda's getting drafted a little more. She wasn't happy with Pony, but it didn't mean she needed to yell at him. Soda shot her a look, as if to say, "I told you. You shouldn't have yelled at him," which Sadie (out of embarrassment) ignored.

"Ya still didn't need to make it about you," she muttered. "This is about Soda."

_It's also about me_, she thought, but she dared not speak that out loud.

"C'mon, guys. C'mon, Sadie," Soda said.

It nearly shattered Sadie's heart that he was still playing the middleman, even when the night should have been about him (and about her).

"You ain't gotta fight about me," he said. "I'm gonna be fine."

_You don't _know _that_, Sadie thought, but again, she'd never speak it.

They were quiet for a long time. Each of them, at some point, thought back to the day they'd put their parents in the ground. They'd all been so much younger then, so unaware that one day three of them would stand in the same place, putting the first of them into the ground, too. Now, with the smoking gun in the middle of the kitchen table, each of the siblings had their suspicions about who would go first. There was no way to forget those suspicions now, no matter how hard they tried to erase and rewind, erase and rewind. Two of them, as they would learn, were correct.

"Soda?"

The four siblings looked up and toward the door, which Sadie had purposely left unlocked, knowing what was to come. Jane Randle was standing in the doorway; staring straight at the only man she'd ever wanted to love. Sadie's breath hitched at the sight of her oldest friend. It wasn't because Jane looked distraught. No, Jane looked stronger and tougher than ever, and that was what really killed Sadie. The status quo took itself out back and got shot one more time. She wasn't sure if she could handle a third bullet.

* * *

Darry, Pony, and Sadie dismissed themselves after a little while. Darry went to bed, Pony went to finish _Narcissus and Goldmund _so he could determine whether it was a good fit for Carrie Shepard's tastes (It wasn't, but he figured that was why she should read it.), and Sadie went back to be with Johnny, considering it was still the night of their wedding. They left Soda and Jane on the couch.

They sat facing one another, knees almost touching but not quite, cross-legged on a couch that could barely support cross-legged seating. Lucy's folks tried to give them their old couch for free a few months earlier, but Darry refused it. He wasn't one for charity, and it wasn't as though the Bennets were _particularly_ wealthy. Secretly, the other siblings were glad about it. There was something about that couch that couldn't be replaced – something they weren't prepared to replace. They'd had it since Ponyboy was born.

"There's one thing I can't figure out," Soda said.

"What?" Jane asked.

"How did you know?"

"Sadie called me when you were busy with your brothers. Told me to get over here as fast as I could. That nobody was hurt but that I probably needed to see you. Guess I just picked up on it."

Soda gave Jane a sort of half smile. That was part of what had always drawn her to him, even before he was particularly aware of it. Like him, Jane was sensitive and sentimental. She had a high emotional intelligence that her brother, Steve (as much as Soda adored him), hadn't really figured out. But in the span of an hour, Jane could go from crying about her folks to wailing on somebody who'd done her wrong. Like Soda, Jane was every bit as tough as she was soft. When he looked at her, there was always this whispery voice in the back of his mind that said, "Ah, _there _you are." To think that soon, he wasn't going to see her everyday … to think that he wouldn't hear "Ah, _there _you are …" each time he met her gaze … he couldn't think about it. Suddenly, but only for the briefest second, he understood why Dally always tried to keep moving.

"I don't wanna go, Jane," he said.

It was the first time he'd said it. He wanted to say it when he was first hugging Sadie, but he knew she'd break down twice as hard as she already was. Where Jane silently understood Soda, Sadie _felt _him, and he felt her. As hard as it would be on Jane for him to be gone, he didn't even know how Sadie was going to wake up in the morning. He didn't know how he could carry on knowing she was far away … knowing he couldn't walk across the hall and knock on her door if he wanted to. He shook his head and tried to forget he'd ever thought about losing Sadie and about feeling her pain.

"I know," Jane said. Her voice was surprisingly steady. "I don't want you to go, either."

Soda sniffed one time, trying not to cry. As the night wore on, it became harder and harder to play tough. If Jane wasn't crying, and she was a more notorious bawl baby than even Soda was, he knew he couldn't shed a tear. He'd rather hold it in than upset her. He loved her too much.

"Got any ideas?" Soda asked with a tiny laugh. Anything to keep it light.

"Well, we know how Dally dodged the draft. But we ain't got time."

"I think that's the least of my worries about havin' a baby, Jane."

"You're right. I ain't ready to give up my figure, and you ain't ready to see it go."

Soda laughed harder this time, and Jane crawled into his lap to kiss him. She was never going to get sick of this, but if she wasn't careful, she was going to get sick of missing it … of missing him. She was already missing him, and he was right in front of her.

"I love you," Soda said.

"Well, if you didn't who else would?"

They laughed one more time, but as Jane's lips shrunk back from their smile, she wondered if Soda knew she was really asking him. If he weren't around to love her, and Steve (who had always loved her, in his very _Steve _way) wasn't around, either … who was left?

* * *

Almost two weeks after Soda got his notice, Lucy was working down at Great Books with Eddie, who was reading a picture book to a crying Elenore. He looked over at Lucy, who was taking notes at the counter, and asked her to see what was the matter.

"I don't think she likes the book," Eddie said.

Lucy walked over to her boss and her baby, confused. That didn't make sense. Elenore liked every book. She even liked when a desperate Dally read names to her out of the phonebook. In hindsight, Lucy thought, that might have been about the sound of his voice. He _did _have a great voice. Eddie, on the other hand, spoke in nasally tones, and made all of his vowels shorter than they needed to be. This was, almost doubtlessly, what was making Elenore cry.

"What book are you reading?" Lucy asked.

Eddie turned the book around, and Lucy rolled her eyes when she saw the cover. It was _Where the Wild Things Are_.

"Well, that's the problem," she said. "You're reading her a book with the scariest monsters I've ever seen."

"It's a great book!"

"She's _one_."

"So what? Dallas once got her to stop crying by reading the first page of some damn Dickens novel I never even heard of, and I own a bookshop."

"And did any of those books have scary monsters with pointy teeth in them?"

"Only the scary, pointy-toothed monster of Victorian London. The economy, Lucy. The _economy_."

Lucy smirked a little and picked Elenore up to carry her around on her hip. As soon as she recognized that she was with her mother, she calmed down. Her eyes were scanning the tall shelves of books, like she knew she was going to be better than pure picture books one day. They were in the poetry section, which typically didn't speak to Lucy, unless it was Plath or her own writing (which, much to Virginia Woolf's dismay, she hadn't been focused on much since Elenore was born). That day, however, there must have been a book on that shelf that was calling out to her. She tried to look for it, and judging by the look on little Elenore's face, she must have been looking for it, too.

"Where're you at, Lucy?" Eddie's nasal seemed far away. She tore her eyes away from the shelf and looked in his direction.

"What?"

"Where're you at? You've seemed real far away for a couple of days."

Lucy sighed. She hadn't told anyone (apart from her parents) about Soda yet. It wasn't like Lucy to share personal details with people who weren't in the most immediate of her immediate circles. Then again, Eddie _did _let her family live above his store, even once they had a baby who liked to cry every now and then. She figured it wouldn't hurt to tell him a little bit. She would try to leave out the parts where she called him a lucky son of a bitch. Like Dally, Eddie was able to dodge the draft on account of his wife and two daughters. Lucky sons of bitches, Lucy thought. She wondered if Dally had a point before and whether it really was too late to get Jane knocked up.

"My friend, you know, Soda?" she asked. It felt peculiar referring to Soda as something so casual as _my friend_. "Elenore's godfather."

That still wasn't right, but Eddie nodded. He'd seen Soda enough times to recognize him out and about.

"He got his draft notice about two weeks ago," Lucy said. "He's not even the first boy I've known to get one. Dally got one the day I found out about Elenore, but I knew I'd get to keep him. I've got friends whose brothers are still over there. I don't know. With Soda … it's just different. It's like…"

Lucy was going to say that it felt like she had more to lose. She was almost as close to Soda now as she had ever been to Sadie, and the thought of losing him (even to something as deceptively simple as distance) felt like losing a limb. The relief she'd felt a week and a half earlier that at least it wasn't Dally (at least it wasn't their family) had vanished. It might not have been her husband this time, but it was still her family.

"I mean, he's Elenore's godfather," Lucy said. "That means something different than if he were just my friend. Do you know what I mean?"

Eddie nodded, then pointed to Elenore. Concerned, Lucy immediately tightened her grip on her daughter to see if anything was the matter. Thankfully, she was just Elenore … a baby who seemed to understand why her mother was so upset.

"Looks like your kid knows what you mean, too," Eddie said.

Lucy glanced down at Elenore's hand, noticing that her tiny index finger was pointing to a very specific book on the shelf. After squinting to read the title a bit, Lucy squatted down and pulled Siegfried Sassoon's collected poems off the shelf. She smirked at the title. She really _was _a smart kid, that Elenore.

"How much for this?" Lucy asked.

"For you? Free."

"Oh, that doesn't really seem reasonable."

"Neither's the draft. Consider us even."

Lucy smiled. The free book didn't make up for the fact that Eddie thought it was a good idea to read _Where the Wild Things Are _to her child or the fact that Soda was going away, but it was all she had. She would have to pretend like it was enough.

A little while later, when Lucy closed the shop and headed up to the apartment with Elenore, Dally came through the door after his shift at the grocery store. He had that _dumbass fucking vest _balled up in his fists, wishing he could throw it in the trash altogether. If he didn't love Lucy and Elenore so much, he'd probably set it on fire in front of that twerp boss of his. _Twerp boss_. What would Lucy have called that again? Some kind of moron.

But he kept the job. He'd had it since Elenore was born and since Two-Bit was shipped off to Vietnam. He hated every second of it. He hated the people who asked him questions and hated the people who smiled at him more than the people who whispered about him. The only parts of his job that he didn't hate were the money he made (however little) and the minute he got home to see the girls he was making money for. While he tried not to show it, a little part of him was always gladder than glad when he walked through the door, and Elenore would grin up at him. She didn't know he was _Dallas Winston_. She only knew that he was her daddy, and she kind of loved him.

"Dad!" Elenore shouted, almost as though it had been eight years since she'd last seen him, as opposed to the eight hours it had actually been.

"How come you always sound so surprised when he walks through that door?" Lucy asked. "Doesn't he walk through that door _everyday_?"

Lucy and Dally shared a look. Somewhere in the back of her mind, young and unshaped as it was, Elenore must have known that it _was _still a surprise that her father came home every night. She must have known that at least once a month, Lucy would jolt awake and feel for Dally on the other side of the bed to make sure he was still there. She had frequent dreams – nightmares, really – about him leaving her, though he swore to her he wasn't going to. It was easy to want to believe him. Unfortunately, part of being matched with Dallas Winston meant that Lucy Bennet was every bit as cynical and jaded as he was. It didn't matter how many times he told her that he was all in. There was still this … thing … floating over her head. She didn't like it, but that didn't mean she knew how to make it go away.

"I know 'm late," Dally said. "Stopped by to see Soda."

"Why? You never just 'stop by to see Soda.' Not without Elenore and me."

"Don't you remember what today is?"

"Wednesday?"

"Kid reported today."

"To the draft board?"

"Naw, he wrote an editorial for the paper. Of course to the fuckin' draft board."

Lucy's heart stopped. In the midst of reading Chaucer (whose work she despised) and trying to take Elenore, she'd completely forgotten that today was it. Sadie must have been furious with Lucy for not stopping by … for not calling to make sure they were OK. Lucy was furious enough with herself. She couldn't even imagine the wrath of Sadie.

"How…?" Lucy couldn't manage the full question. Besides, she had too many.

"They gave him 1-A," Dally said. "What? You expect somethin' different?"

_No_, Lucy thought. _Just wished for something different, that's all_.

"So, he's really gonna go," she said.

"Looks like it, don't it?"

She wanted to tell Dally that she loved him, but she only told him that when he was desperate to hear it. He'd still never told her, though she knew, deep within, that he did love her. She wanted to tell him that she was glad he was there with her – that although Elenore had been a surprise, she was thankful for it because it meant she got to keep him and got to meet their daughter. There were so many beautiful and poetic phrases dancing on the tip of her tongue; yet, she knew she couldn't actually speak any of them. That wasn't the kind of love she and her husband shared. They were wild, they were passionate, but they were not poetic. They were not sentimental.

Instead, Lucy nodded a few times, trying not to cry in front of Dally. She knew, even though they were becoming increasingly vulnerable in front of each other, that he wouldn't have been able to handle the sight of her like that. And was this really her cause to cry? Lucy adored Soda, but he wasn't _her _brother (not really). She should be phoning Sadie. She should be holding Sadie while _she _cried, not standing there with Dally, holding in the tears she was too proud to let go. This was not her place. This was not her place, and yet, she couldn't seem to move from it.

"Well, I guess I better go see him," she finally said, trying to clear out the lump in her throat.

"Yeah, guess so," Dally said. Lucy was so caught up in her own thoughts that she didn't even pick up on the fact that Dally sounded a little dejected himself. "Take Elenore with ya."

Lucy cocked her head to the side, finally noticing that there was something the matter with Dally – something more than usual. She knew they still had reservations about being vulnerable in front of one another, but they'd both been getting better. If he didn't want to talk, she wouldn't make him, but Lucy saw it as her responsibility to ask. Now that they had Elenore, getting Dally to talk seemed more important than ever.

"Wait," she said. "What's the matter?"

"Bennet, don't fuckin'…"

"No, _you _don't fucking do this. You said you were gonna be more honest for Elenore. Did you mean it?"

Dally looked at Elenore, who was still smiling at him, blissfully unaware that her mother was becoming progressively angry with him. He looked at Elenore and fell in love with her all over again. He didn't want her to grow up with an old man who didn't care about himself. That would mean he couldn't care about her, and damn, did he ever care about her. There were only two people in the world Dallas Winston cared about enough to wear that _dumbass fucking vest _for, and they were both in that apartment.

Still, that didn't mean he was going to give Lucy some pretty speech about how he felt walking home from the Curtis place … how he felt after talking to Soda and seeing Pony cry, Sadie bawl, and Jane Randle's eyes turn red with exhaustion and fear. He could have, and he'd thought one in his head on the way back home. But he wasn't going to share it with Lucy. He knew that she loved him (though she hardly told him so, for fear that he would panic and leave – probably a wise choice on Lucy's behalf, when he thought about himself like that), but there was a part of him that figured she'd ridicule him for being honest. Like it was all some sort of trick that only a broad as tough as Lucy Bennet could pull over him. Until he stopped thinking that way, being honest with her was always going to be like pulling teeth.

In the end, Dally could only get out a few words.

"It shoulda been me, Lucy," he said. "Shoulda fuckin' been me."

Lucy didn't say anything. There was nothing she _could_ say. Dally wouldn't have listened to words or to reason – not when he was in one of those moods. Instead, Lucy took one arm, wrapped it around her husband's waist, and looked him in the eye until he finally let go of enough pride to look at her back. She hoped, though she wasn't certain, that it would do the trick – that he would hear how much she loved him and how glad she was that he was there with her… how glad she was that he never left. The guilt didn't matter now. This was between them, and she wanted him to hear her without speaking.

Though he'd never confirm it, he could.

* * *

**Why, yes, the title of this story **_**is **_**taken from a song by The Kinks! It's quite a departure from the Austen-esque titles of yore (read: the months of March and April), but I think it works better with the areas of this "expanded universe" that I'm beginning to shade and flesh out. Yikes.**

**Hinton owns **_**The Outsiders**_**. The Dickens novel that Dally supposedly read to Elenore is never mentioned in the text, though I think it's important to mention that in my head, it's **_**Dombey and Son, **_**which is one of his more obscure novels (and my favorite). In this universe, there's something about Dickens that Dally, strange as it seems, just **_**gets**_**. Dickens, of course, is an author whose works are all in the public domain.**


	2. Chapter 2

**So, a quick note: This chapter takes place within the same days and hours of one of the vignettes in my one shot, "I'll Be Your Mirror." I'm quite sure it makes sense without that one shot, but if you want to read that first, you could. Just know that it has spoilers for 'See My Friends' and my rendering of Soda in general.**

* * *

On his penultimate night at home, Soda dreamt of women. They weren't the dreams he'd had when he was thirteen years old, nor were they anything like the dreams Two-Bit claimed to have every night, where a carousel of blondes understood no piece of language apart from his name. When Soda dreamt of women that night, he didn't see their faces at all. He couldn't even see himself. He was in a black hallway that seemed to lead to nowhere, but he knew he wasn't alone. He could hear their voices.

The first was the most familiar. She laughed at first; then, she cried. Before long, she was singing to him, as though she was playing around with a car radio that he couldn't see. He couldn't see anything.

"_And when I told her / I didn't love her anymore / she cried …"_

"That's ridiculous, don't ya think, Soda? He sounds _surprised _that she cried. He just said he didn't love her anymore, and he just … what? He wanted her to take it on the chin? I don't get it. Why do we even listen to this stuff? Because it's on the radio? That's dumb. We shouldn't do that anymore. From now on, when we go out to practice driving, it's either silence or conversation. None of this."

Hard as he tried to find her, he couldn't. She kept talking, but no matter what, she sounded farther and farther away from him.

"I think I finally get it. When you say 'I miss you' the way you do sometimes. I used to think it was too weird, but I think I get it now. Are you even listening to me? Where are you? Soda? Soda? Pepsi Cola?"

He thought he might have found her. But as soon as he thought he was coming upon her in the darkness, another voice cut in. This one was a little newer – sharper, clearer, more authoritative. She was reciting something, too, though it wasn't a pop song from a car radio. Soda wasn't even sure how he'd managed to remember it … he'd never said hardly any of those words in the same order like that, and he certainly didn't know how to spell some of them. Why were they coming out now, when he wasn't even awake?

"'Dreams occurring in traumatic have the characteristic of repeatedly bringing the patient back into the situation of his accident,'" the voice said. He could almost hear the smirk on her face. "Is that what's gonna happen to you?"

Though Soda tried to speak, he found he had no voice.

"I hope not," the voice continued, still with arrogant clarity. "I love you, but I don't know how I'd handle two of you at the same time."

In the distance, he thought he heard a baby cry out for a mother. He wasn't sure if it was someone else or if it was himself … or both.

The clear voice sighed, a little annoyed and a little exhausted.

"Babies have very small brains, you know. Even if you come back, she won't remember your face."

Come back from where? Where was he, anyway? Where was he really going? He tried to ask, but his voice was still broken. Before he knew it, she was gone – replaced by a different voice, one that was lighter and sweeter.

"Don't worry about what she says," the new voice said. "Me an' you both know she's never been too good and comforting."

He really wished he could find her, but even as she continued to speak, she stayed hidden in the shadows.

"Why don't you tell me what's the matter?" the voice asked. "I might not be able to fix it, but I'm sure I can listen. People tell me I'm a good listener. You told me that once when we were little kids."

Soda tried to tell the voice that he remembered. It was no use. He was still voiceless. It didn't matter. The only thing he could think of now was her name – how simple it sounded yet how beautiful it was. He wanted to say it a million times over, like maybe he'd never say it again. He wasn't sure where he stood on God anymore (not since the accident when he was fifteen), but if there was a God, then God had invented this woman's name as a tiny little prayer. He'd say her name first when (if) he finally got his voice back. Why did he feel so cold?

He touched the top of his head and remembered. He was going to lose what made him tuff so he could seem tougher. It seemed stupid. Everything about it seemed stupid, so it probably was. The most stupid part was that he couldn't take the women with him … couldn't find them even when they spoke directly to him. He turned a corner in the pitch-black hallway as he tried to find at least one of them (ideally, all three), and he was caught off guard when the walls seemed to open up.

The light from between the two panels of blackness wasn't overwhelming. It was a contrast; yet, it did not consume him or shock him – at least, not terribly. He was still a little blinded, and when he thought he heard someone begin to emerge from the brightness, he squinted to see if he could recognize the person coming out. All he saw were shadows, but when the shadows spoke, Soda felt his heart swell. He was so worried he'd forgotten the sound of her voice.

"There you are," the voice said. "So, you _did _get here first!"

Get there first? What did that mean? Two-Bit and Steve were already in Vietnam, so he wasn't … his heart shriveled up and dropped down to his knees.

Oh.

The shadows slowly began to emerge from the deep brightness between the dark walls, but they never arrived. He woke up with a jolt, sweating and gasping like no other, to prove that he was still alive … to prove that he still had some sort of voice, even if he was going to be little more than a number and a weapon before he knew it. He turned his head and looked at his pillow, which was drenched in sweat and saliva. It was disgusting; though it reminded Soda that he was still alive. For that, it was comforting. For now, he could pretend like he was in some sort of control … even though the sweat and the saliva reminded him that he had a body, and bodies were made simply so they could die.

He threw his pillow across the room, hugged his knees to his chest like a child, and wished, for a moment, that Sadie were still in the next room over. He'd spent almost every night of his life knowing he could wake her up and talk to her if he needed to. Without knowing that she was down the hall or down the block, how was he supposed to carry on? How was he supposed to survive a war he didn't even understand if he couldn't take Sadie with him?

Then, Soda remembered that last voice in his dream.

_There you are._ _So you _did _get here first!_

He only wished she'd told him how long it took for him to get there.

* * *

"You're really not coming?"

"I'm really not coming."

Lucy had been begging Dally to come with her to the Curtis house to say goodbye to Soda that night. Unfortunately, Dally was in one of those static moods where all he wanted to do was lie down and pretend like the world outside didn't exist; that it wasn't filled with paranoia and trauma waiting to happen. If Lucy hadn't been busying herself as much as she had been in the days leading up to Soda's departure, she probably would have felt the same way. It was easier to turn it into an event than a tragedy. After all, she'd always been decent at sublimation. Of course, Dally hadn't figured out how to do that, so he sat on their bed, arms planted firmly at his sides (suspiciously like a soldier), refusing to move because he didn't want to confront Soda again. It was hard enough the first time he went to check up on the kid.

He wasn't even planning to go see him on the day he reported to the draft board. He hadn't forgotten about it. Since the day Soda told him and Lucy about the draft, he'd been counting the days. Thirteen days until Soda gets 1-A. Eleven and a half. Five. Two. One. Dally walked out of that grocery store, balled that _dumbass fucking vest _into his fists, and walked (without even quite realizing it) all the way to the Curtis house. When he got there, Soda was alone. It was almost cosmic, if he would have cared enough about things that were cosmic.

"What're you doin' here?" Soda asked.

"Ain't that what I usually ask you?"

Wordlessly, Soda moved aside and let Dally inside the house. They didn't say anything for a long time – hadn't really had a lot of dialogue since that day Dally called Soda to help him get Elenore to stop crying. There hadn't been much of a reason. Soda was there to push Dally into the direction he was supposed to be heading anyway; lately, Dally just … happened to be heading in the right direction (for himself, anyway). Neither of them was sure how much time passed before Soda spoke. After all, he'd have to be the one to break the silence.

"So, what _are _you doin' here, Dally?"

"Remembered you gotta report tomorrow. Felt like …"

"Like what? Like you could give me some kind of advice? I don't think you'd be real helpful."

"C'mon, man …"

"You got to go in there an' say, 'Hey, sorry, Uncle Sam, but the chick I married on a dare got knocked up. I don't want the baby, but it's sure a good excuse!'"

Dally thought of the way Elenore was sure to yell out, "Dad!" when he walked through their door later that night (He was still planning to come home, after all.), and his blood boiled. Part of him knew what Lucy would say if she were there. Soda wasn't really pissed at him – wasn't really talking shit to or about him, just like Dally hadn't _really _called Lucy a bitch that night back in '66 when Violet got into it with Jane Randle. He was scared about what the next day would bring, and he felt alone, so he took it out on Dally. Lucy would have reminded him about _projection _again. But she wasn't there, so Dally felt pretty comfortable just getting pissed off.

"Don't talk about my kid that way," he growled.

"What? You didn't want her. Said it yourself when ya told us Lucy was knocked up. You tried to walk out on her on the day she was born."

"Thanks for the reminder. Didn't need it, but thanks."

Soda exhaled slowly, and his expression softened. He was becoming Soda again – at least, the version of Soda that Dally needed him to be. They hadn't played this game in quite a long time. They'd fallen out of the swing of things. But now, Soda was remembering. He needed to be a certain way for Dally; Dally needed to be a certain way for him. It was the only way for either of them to figure out who they really were outside of the narratives that everyone else had thrust upon them.

"I'm sorry," Soda said.

"Don't bother, man. You're right. I don't know shit about what you gotta do tomorrow."

"That ain't your fault. This is what you're s'posed to do, I guess. You're s'posed to be with Lucy. You're s'posed to be Elenore's dad. And I know … I know you want to be."

Dally didn't say anything to that. There wasn't any point. Quietly, he knew that he _did _want what he already had, especially considering he was fairly certain he had the best kind of wife and the best kind of kid. Lucy didn't expect him to start dressing like some kind of nerd, nor did she expect him to be some kind of romantic. She was cool. Hell, even Elenore was a pretty easy baby. She hardly even cried anymore. Plus, he had to admit he got a kick out of being called _Dad _whenever he walked through the door. It felt like a big "fuck you" to his old lady, his old man, and every cop who'd ever cuffed him. At least one girl in the world was happy to see him – some nights, two.

But he didn't need to prove any of that to Soda. It was for him to know and for everybody else to wonder about.

"You shouldn't be goin' to war, man," Dally said.

"Why not?" Soda asked, only halfway sarcastically. "I ain't in school. I ain't married, and I ain't got kids."

He thought back to the year he was sixteen, and Sandy came to him and told him she knew it wasn't his. He'd have married her right then and there, raised the kid because he wanted to, not because he worried about getting drafted, but her folks didn't… hell, she didn't want to, anyway. If she'd loved him, she wouldn't have stepped out on him in the first place. That was what Steve and Darry had told him when it happened, anyway. He was older now, and he wasn't so sure it was that simple. She had loved him. Maybe it was never going to last. Maybe Soda was always supposed to end up loving Jane Randle. He knew he was. Still, since he got his notice, he couldn't stop thinking about Sandy and that baby – the one that could have been almost sorta his. Where did they live? Was the kid a boy? Soda always figured the kid would be a boy. Were they happy, wherever they were? Would they have made a difference, or would Uncle Sam still have found a way to get Soda over there? He'd been rolling the same questions over and over again in his brain for weeks. He wondered if Jane got the feeling, and if she did, he wondered if she was upset with him for it. Probably, but that didn't stop him from wondering.

"Lucy says there shouldn't even be a war," Dally said, almost aware of the fact that he probably shouldn't have brought Lucy (the reason he hadn't been shipped out) into the conversation again. "She's got a whole list of reasons. I can't remember any of 'em, but she's got 'em."

"I know."

Dally was quiet again. He wasn't sure why he'd gone to see Soda that night. When his shift at that stupid grocery store ended, there was something inside of him that told him he needed to go. But once he was there, he didn't have anything to say. As soon as he saw Soda's face – not crestfallen, but made of sullen stone – any words that he might have thought before were suddenly gone. All Dally could think was that soon, Soda would be on the frontlines of a war neither of them particularly understood when it should have been him all along. Soda deserved to stay home. Dally may have had a home now, but that didn't mean he deserved it.

"You know what, Dally?" Soda asked. "I been thinkin'."

"Sounds dangerous to me."

"It should. I been thinkin' … part of me really hates you."

Dally snorted. He wasn't offended, mostly because he didn't blame Soda for hating him, particularly not on the evening before he was supposed to report to the draft board. Rather, Dally was amused that Soda had, somehow, learned to feel comfortable enough in front of him to say something like that.

"You oughta," Dally said.

"It's like … I don't know, it's like you took the life I could've had or somethin'. And I don't mean I should've ended up married to Lucy or that I should be Elenore's dad 'cause I don't. But if they asked me three or four years ago which one of us – between you and me – that I thought would be married with a baby, I'd have said it was me."

"What would you have said about me?"

Dally didn't regret asking the question even though he was relatively sure of what Soda was about to say. It didn't bother him. In fact, he almost liked to hear it when it came up, and it did – from Pony, from Two-Bit (when he was still in the old neighborhood, of course), and from Violet. It was a good reminder.

"I'd have said you'd be dead," Soda said. "I thought you'd get gunned down by the cops or somethin'. Maybe if ya lived long enough, you'd be the one getting' blown up on the frontlines in 'Nam."

Dally shrugged. He had seen it coming, but it was welcome. Whenever someone joked about how they were surprised that Dally was still alive, it made Dally wonder why he hadn't been taken out yet. What was so important for him in this life that he was able to dodge the draft – that he was able to stay alive, in spite of the vendettas that the guys in Tulsa (and the guys in the Bronx, really, when he thought on it) had against him? Why was the war coming for the last kid on Earth who deserved to be taken away from his home and his family like that?

"I know," Dally finally said. His voice was gravelly with guilt.

"It don't make any fuckin' sense that you're the one with the wife an' the baby an' the 3-A. You never wanted any of that. I did. You never wanted it, and you got it. I ain't … look, sometimes I just wish you'd have gone. Like, maybe if you'd gone, then you'd have gone instead of me. I know it don't work that way, but that don't mean I don't wish for it sometimes."

"I know. I wish for that, too."

"What?"

It was the strangest thing Soda had heard in a while. The Dally he knew now was, of course, markedly different from the Dally (or the performance of Dally) he'd grown up with. For one thing, this version of Dally had made it past his eighteenth birthday. But Dally had his shot at bailing. He found out that Lucy was knocked up on the same day his sister came and brought him his draft card. He could have left then, but he stayed (because he wanted to). If he was trying to back out now, when Elenore was weeks away from turning one …

"I ain't gonna leave," Dally said.

"I never said …"

"You didn't, but your face did. I ain't gonna leave. I told Lucy I'd stay, and she's …"

He wasn't going to finish his statement (because he didn't think he needed to), but Soda, ever gregarious and meddling in his relationship with Bennet, finished it for him.

"The only person you'd stay for."

"She's cool."

That was about all Dally could say about Lucy. It didn't matter how much time he spent with her or how much he loved her (because he did). For as long as he lived, it was almost all he could ever say.

"It just don't seem right, man," Dally said. "You're you, and I'm me, you know?"

Soda nodded. He knew. They both did. Soda was supposed to be long for the world. He was supposed to marry Jane Randle and take care of their kids. He was supposed to be the guy who bought his girl flowers on an arbitrary Tuesday. He was supposed to be the guy who taught his sons how to throw a good punch – his daughters, too, if he had them. He was the guy you thought about fondly – the guy who could fuck shit up when he wanted to, but the guy you remembered for doing handstands down the street and for always smiling at you like you meant it any time you came into the DX. He wasn't an Eagle Scout or an angel or anything. But he was Sodapop Curtis, and that name carried a certain goodness within itself.

Dally should have died before he was eighteen. Hell, he knew he should have died that night when he was ten years old (that night that Violet was only eight). If you saw him coming toward you in the street, you hid your children behind you as you walked. If you heard he'd been shipped out to the jungle, you were not-so-secretly thankful he wasn't running around your streets anymore. Now, he would be someone else's problem … but probably not for long, since he would have been sure to die the minute he stepped foot onto foreign soil. That was supposed to be who Dally was. He was supposed to die young (but not tragically, as Dallas Winston's death would be a blessing for more people than it would be a burden, or so he'd figured). For a reason he'd never understand, he'd not only been allowed to live, but he was also allowed to have a real home, a real wife, and a real kid he cared about seeing everyday. They hadn't melted his heart (And they never really would – neither he nor Lucy would ever be stupid enough to believe that.), but they were cool. It was cool that he had them. But what had he done to deserve Lucy? To deserve Elenore? He hadn't done anything. He'd just happened to be standing in the right spot and looking the right way when Lucy was around. When was she going to wake up to his fuckery, anyhow?

"I should be over there," Dally wasn't sure how many slight variations of the same thing he could say. "You should stay here an' take care of my kid for me. You do it better."

"Naw. She kinda likes you."

"She don't know better yet."

"Yeah, she does."

They were quiet again. Soda wracked his brain for the right thing to say, but he couldn't seem to form a single, complete thought. Everything was jumbled and messy. Part of him wanted to apologize to Dally, but for what, he wasn't sure. Part of him wanted to beg Dally to take his place when he reported to the draft board the next day, but he knew he couldn't. Part of him wanted to tell Dally that he was right. He _should _be the one in Vietnam, and Soda _should _be the one at home, working in a gas station and taking care of a beautiful baby who beamed at the sight of him each and everyday. Part of him wanted to remind Dally that what happened to them wasn't entirely up to them. But none of his thoughts made any sense. It wasn't that they weren't intelligent or profound. Soda might not have read much apart from a few of the magazines Jane always left around the living room and (if you counted it as reading, which he did) the stories Pony read to him when they were just lying around the house, but he wasn't stupid. He knew how to think. He just never knew how to put all the things he thought into the right words for Dally. Talking to Dally wasn't like talking to his brothers or Steve or anybody else he knew, really. With Dally, there were certain patterns you had to follow … certain pauses you had to hit and certain words you simply could not say. Soda wrestled with the conversion of his thoughts into Dally's language until he didn't need to anymore. Dally spoke instead.

"You ain't gonna die over there," he said. His voice was thicker than Soda had ever heard it. "You're gonna come home."

"You don't know that."

"Yeah, I do. I don't know why, so don't you fuckin' ask me. I just do."

"I hope so. Hey, Dally?"

"Yeah?"

"D'you think if you were the one who really went to 'Nam … do you think _you _would have made it back home?"

_No_, Dally thought. When he thought of Vietnam before Lucy and especially before Elenore, Dally had dreams almost every night of a bouquet of bullets running through his chest for no reason other than he was Dallas Winston, and by definition, Dallas Winston could not be long for this world. Dally used to think about his death all the time, like maybe it would be a relief. Not much had changed since then. He _still _thought about death all the time, only now, he wasn't sure he wanted it. He didn't want Soda to feel even a fraction of what he did. Surely, Soda had to know he was worth more than that. He was worth more than Dally would ever be, regardless of Lucy's willingness to put up with him or the way Elenore's face would light up any time he walked into a room (as though he was somebody worth loving that much).

"Doesn't matter," Dally finally said. "I guess I ain't ever gotta know."

"Right."

"So, whaddya say, man? You be me, an' I'll be you?"

Soda snorted in that kind of ironic amusement.

"Naw," he said. "Seems that way, but it ain't."

Somewhere, Dally knew he was right. If Soda were meant to stay home, he would have. If Dally were meant to have died young, he would have (And there was still time, when he thought about it, even though Lucy would have killed him for it.). He nodded at Soda, who then asked him if he wanted to go outside for a smoke. But he didn't. He'd been trying to quit smoking since Elenore said _Dad _for the first time. It didn't make any sense, and he knew that. But if things made sense, Soda wouldn't have to go. Dally wouldn't have gotten to stay.

Either way, he couldn't tell Lucy any of it. She would have wanted to _talk_. She would have wanted to find _help_. Dally didn't go for that shit.

As she prepared to leave the apartment that day to say goodbye to Soda, she was still begging Dally to go with her. He didn't give her any particularly strong reasons as to why he wasn't going. He said he didn't want to. He'd seen Soda recently, anyway. His shift at that stupid grocery store had beaten the hell out of him, and he wasn't really up for being around people for a long time. He didn't want to put up with Pony, who'd surely be sobbing all night. That one got Lucy's goat.

"These people are supposed to be your friends," she said. She lifted Elenore out of her crib and put a tiny jacket over her. It was cool for late April in Tulsa.

"I ain't goin'."

Lucy exhaled, loudly and with contempt. A small smirk twitched around Dally's lips, as he knew that was the sign of Lucy's giving in to one of his (admittedly ridiculous) demands. Part of him was satisfied (another manipulation well done), and another part … well, he wasn't sure what that feeling was. He only knew that he didn't care for it. It was awful heavy.

"Fine," she said. "You don't have to."

"You're damn right."

Lucy put her hands over Elenore's ears. They'd had to do that for the past few months after an incident in the grocery store. Lucy had gone to visit her husband at work (In essence, she'd gone to make sure he was really working somewhere, and their income wasn't entirely illegitimate.), and she brought Elenore with her. Elenore, unprompted, decided to yell, "Fuck!" in the middle of the cereal. She'd humiliated even her father, who began to fume when he heard some old ladies whispering about how hoods couldn't be daddies. He'd have gone after them, too, but as soon as he caught sight of Lucy in his periphery, he knew it was probably better to keep that _dumbass fucking vest _and stay out of jail.

But since then, they'd made it a point not to swear around the baby … unless it was necessary, in which case, they covered her ears.

"If you're not going to go, that's fine," Lucy said. Her voice was so punctuated, and it probably would have been hot if Dally weren't so wrecked with … whatever this was. "But you should I know, I think you're being an asshole."

"Isn't that why you like me?" Dally asked, still trying to charm his wife. "Because I'm an asshole?"

"I didn't say you were one. I said you were being one. There's a difference, and I think you know that. Now, can you hand me that book on my desk? It's for Soda."

Dally got up from the bed and picked up the book in question. Before he handed it over to Lucy, he read the title, confused. He hadn't seen that book around the apartment before. If he had, surely he would have read some of it behind her back.

"Who's Siegfried Sassoon?"

Lucy took the book from Dally's hands and tucked it under her arm.

"He was a poet during the First World War," she said. "There were a lot of poets from that particular moment, but he's my favorite. Figured he might keep Soda company."

"You're givin' Soda a book."

"Yes. He can read, you know."

"But does he want to?"

"I don't think it really matters what Soda _wants _to do anymore."

That made Dally shut up for awhile. It didn't matter what Soda wanted to do or could do, but Dally? He could walk around and do whatever he wanted. It didn't matter. He still couldn't manage to get Lucy to leave him (He didn't even want her to.), and he still couldn't manage to die (He didn't particularly want that, either.). But if he had to choose between himself and Sodapop Curtis, it was always hard to choose himself.

_Do you have to choose? _he thought, but he dismissed it immediately. He didn't want to put up with any of that _philosophy _bullshit. Those were the only books of Lucy's that he couldn't stand to read. They didn't make any fucking sense … probably because they made too much sense.

"Is there anything you want me to tell him?" Lucy asked. Her back was pressed against the door. She didn't look angry (or like she was going to leave him). Just disappointed. Elenore, blissfully unaware of the tension between Mommy and Daddy, smiled at him with her few teeth.

"Yeah," Dally said. "Just tell him I'll see him around, would ya?"

Lucy nodded, pulled the door open, and off she went. She didn't know it, but Dally stood at the window and watched her walk away. It seemed like the right thing to do.

* * *

_I'll be the wind / the rain and the sunset / the light on your door to show that you're home…_

Sadie should have suspected that Ponyboy would have that record. He was getting more and more into _deep music_ the closer he got to college. She told him she would give it back when she was done listening to it, but both of them knew that was a lie. Sadie would listen to that record time and again, until the grooves wore out … until it began to skip, and she could no longer see.

Her throat still hurt too much to talk about anything, let alone talk about Soda. As soon as Jane showed up at the Curtis house to spend the rest of the night with him, she wrapped her arms around him, choked out the most painful, "I love you" that she'd ever delivered (Even the one to her parents' caskets hadn't been this hard.), and she walked away without looking back. It would have been impossible to look back. She would have latched herself onto his left side and never let go.

When she and Johnny got back home, he asked her if she wanted to talk about Soda. Sadie told him that she couldn't – not that night, anyway. It was too much and too soon. She wanted to be alone, which Johnny respected. They were living in a tiny house that, at some point, was probably a barn. Before they'd gotten married, Johnny had picked up some work on a rich guy's house. Apparently, there were some handy jobs that only small guys could do. When he found out about Sadie, he offered them the house that wasn't too far away from the property. It was pretty derelict, but it was better than where Johnny had been before.

There weren't many places inside the tiny house for Johnny to go and leave Sadie the space she needed, so he went out back and walked around for a while. That was the nice thing about living where almost no one could find them – almost no one could find them, and he could walk around without reaching for his blade every two or three minutes. In a way, he didn't blame Sadie for not wanting to talk about Soda. He didn't want to talk about him, either … mostly because he was worried it wasn't long before he was in the same spot. He was worried it wasn't long before he had to leave Sadie, too. And that just about shattered him.

He wondered if Sadie knew why he'd married her. He was worried that she thought he only married her to get the hell out of his folks' house since that was the reason she presented back in '65 when they weren't even seniors in high school yet. Though that was certainly a benefit, it wasn't the only reason – not by a long shot. He hoped Sadie knew that he married her because he loved her … because he couldn't imagine a life where he didn't get to see her everyday. He wondered if she loved him as much as he loved her, but he didn't stop on it for very long. The thoughts made him anxious, and that was the whole point of living out there. So he could maybe stop feeling anxious for a few minutes each day. He wasn't stupid, and neither was Sadie. Nothing was ever going to "fix" him. But maybe, he could buy himself a couple of minutes everyday. Maybe.

Inside the house, Sadie lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to burst into tears. She hadn't cried for a while. The last time she cried was three days ago when she was thinking about the possibility of writing Soda a letter that he never received because who knew if you could trust a whole foreign country with American mail? It wasn't the real reason why she was crying, and she and Johnny both knew that. It was just easier to say that than, "What if my twin brother dies before I'm ready to tell him goodbye?"

She blinked back the few tears that were pricking her eyes (Dad's eyes, Soda's eyes) and reminded herself that she would never be ready to tell her own twin goodbye. She cursed herself for picturing him dead so often, but she wasn't sure what else she could do. If what Lucy said was true, this war was hideous on the young. And Soda was just … he was too young. If there was a God up there, didn't he know that? Didn't he care?

Sadie wondered what the next year would be like whenever she looked into a mirror. Who would she see? Who would look back at her and tell her that she was lovely? She couldn't say those things to herself. She'd always felt silly. Johnny loved her and spoke, albeit softly, the loveliest things to her. But it wasn't the same. It wasn't the same as having someone who was yourself but not yourself. There was something about that. Sadie never had the right word to describe what it felt like to be somebody's twin – somebody as great as Sodapop Curtis – so she figured there wasn't a word strong enough.

After a little while, Johnny came back into the house. Sadie jolted upward and looked at him with wide eyes. She'd forgotten about him. She'd forgotten about herself. The only thing that mattered was Soda.

"Is it OK if I come back in?" Johnny asked. His voice was so young – so … something else. Language wasn't coming easily for Sadie. Her throat still hurt too much.

She nodded and patted the place next to her on the bed.

"Yeah," she said. "I probably shouldn't be alone for very much longer."

Johnny sat next to Sadie on the bed (_their _bed, which still felt strange to think) and cautiously placed his hand on her back. He knew it was haphazard comfort, but he didn't know what else to do. There was nothing strong enough to comfort somebody who'd just (temporarily) lost her reflection.

"He's gonna be fine," was all Johnny could say.

Sadie didn't say anything back. She couldn't. Anything she said would have been a sentence – the kind of sentence she wasn't ready for.

The record spun on the turntable, but there was no sound.

* * *

_ Oh, I'm all alone now / No love to shield me / Trapped in a world that's / a distorted reality…_

Jane sat up in bed and looked at the radio like it had just betrayed her.

"What the hell?" she asked. "I never knew this song was so depressing."

"Surprise," Soda said.

"What's up with you lately, Mr. Sarcastic?"

"I've always been sarcastic. Ask Darry and Pony. Ask …"

He sucked in his breath. If all went the way it was meant to (supposed to, should, whatever), Steve was due back home in a few months, and nobody would have to avoid saying his name around Jane. They didn't spend too much time together once they got to be teenagers, and not a lot of people knew it, but Jane loved Steve like she never loved anybody. When their folks would fight and yell and scream, Steve was there to make sure Jane didn't take the brunt of it. He was the one who taught her how to pack a punch. He was her first friend. When he was shipped out, it didn't matter that Jane still had Soda or the other girls. Knowing that Steve wouldn't be there if she needed him, even though they weren't always together like Soda and Sadie, was too much.

"Well, it don't matter," Soda awkwardly finished his thought.

"Right. You're not gonna turn it off?"

"What?"

"The radio. You're not gonna turn it off?"

Soda glanced at the nightstand beside him and shrugged. It wasn't bothering him. It reminded him of Lucy and Sadie. Lucy lived in Detroit for a year before she moved to Tulsa when she was turning fifteen, and though Detroit was the place she lived in for the shortest stretch of time, she decided that was the place she was going to call home. She was always giving Sadie these Motown records to listen to – said that was real music and everything else was trying to be as cool as Motown. Soda didn't always agree, but he loved watching Lucy and Sadie listen. They were, after all, his sisters.

"It's okay," Jane said.

They were silent for what felt like forever. Jane wondered what she would do the next day when she woke up and there was no Sodapop next to her. She supposed she'd carry on as she did when she was a little bit younger, and Soda didn't think of her as much more than Steve's kid sister or Sadie's friend. But that was different. She knew she'd still get to see him. Now … now who was going to kiss her cheek in the morning and tell her that she was beautiful? Who was going to look after Jane once Soda was gone? She knew she could look after herself. Steve may have taught her how to throw a good punch, but it wasn't long before she threw her own _Jane _spin on it. It wasn't long before Jane Randle was the deadlier of the siblings, probably because she was angrier than she let on, probably because she was a girl. She could look after herself, but that didn't mean it wasn't nice to know that she had somebody on her side. Without Soda …

She stopped. It was too hard to think of those words, and it was even harder to think of anything that could come after them. _Without Soda_. It was contradictory. Jane hated it.

"You're not going to meet some beautiful woman over there, are you?" she asked. She tried to keep it light, but her voice quivered on the question.

"I'm sure I'll meet one," Soda said. "Don't mean I'll trade you in."

"That's real romantic."

"I mean it. You're my Jane. The thought of anybody else just tears me up inside."

They both laughed. Soda didn't quite have Pony's flair for the dramatic, but he could play the part when he wanted to make Jane laugh. She grabbed his face and kissed him quickly, trying not to remember that it would be one of the last times she could for quite a while. With her lips pressed against his, Soda hoped Jane couldn't hear him thinking about Sandy. He knew he shouldn't be – that he was always supposed to be with Jane. But the "What if?" questions … they were still swirling in his head, and it felt like there was nothing he could do to stop them. As Jane gave him a small smile, he assumed she must not have figured him out.

"I love you," she said.

"Me, too."

"You still don't wanna go?"

Soda shook his head. Of course he didn't want to go. He didn't want to go because he wanted to see Elenore's first birthday party, which was in two days. He didn't want to go because he wanted to hear all about Pony's first college classes firsthand, not through some letter where he couldn't see his face or hear the dryness of his voice. He didn't want to go because he wanted to keep looking at Sadie and knowing that someone out there understood him perfectly and silently. He didn't want to go because he wanted to spend every night with Jane. Being away from Sadie and Jane. That would be the hardest. He made a note to tell Sadie about that one of these days, should he make it that long.

"I ain't cut out to be a soldier," he said. "I don't follow rules too good. You know that."

"But that's part of your charm."

"And it's exactly what I'm _not _supposed to do over there."

"Maybe they'll hate you so much they'll send you home, like when Steve annoyed his science teacher so bad, he got him suspended for three days."

"Vietnam isn't a high-school suspension, Janie."

"But what if it was?"

"Don't matter. It's not."

Jane folded her hands together, not quite praying, but not … _not _praying, either. She looked down at her thumbs and told Soda she was sorry for trying to make light of what was happening in the next few hours.

"It's alright," Soda said. "I know you're just tryin' … to make it better. It ain't easy on you, either."

"Can't imagine what it's like to be you, babe. Whaddya say? What if I play you, and you play me?"

Soda thought back to his conversation with Dally on the night before he was supposed to report to the draft board. He'd said almost the same thing. It made him think … why hadn't Dally come by the house with Lucy and Elenore? Was he upset with him? Of course he was upset with him. It wasn't Soda's fault, per se, but Dally was upset with him. After all, they'd taken each other's rightful places.

"I think you better stay Jane," Soda finally said. "I'd rather look at you and your pretty face than mine."

"You're very pretty!"

"Not as pretty as you."

"Well, if you insist."

Another wave of silence passed between them. Jane rested her hand on Soda's shoulder as though it would help. For a moment, it did. Jane was still there. But as soon as he remembered that in twenty-four hours, Jane would be gone … _he _would be gone … he felt his heart in his throat again.

"You're gonna be fine," was all Jane could say.

Soda didn't respond. His throat hurt too much, and he couldn't stop thinking about the dream he'd had before.

* * *

When Lucy and Elenore returned to their apartment from the Curtis house, Dally was (much to Lucy's surprise) still home. She hadn't expected him to bail entirely, but she'd at least expected him to go out and get drunk. Instead, she found him on their bed, staring at the wall in front of him. Her eyes flickered to his right side. _The Collected Poems of Wilfred Owen _was placed pages-down beside him. Lucy smirked a little. He wasn't even good at hiding it anymore.

"Hey," she said.

"Dad!" Elenore yelled.

Dally almost smiled at Elenore. She was one of the few people who could bring him there as a reflex. He wondered if she'd ever know that.

"Hey, Elenore," he said. "Least somebody's happy to see me."

"I never said I wasn't," Lucy said.

Dally got up from the bed and covered Elenore's ears.

"You were pissed at me when you left."

"I wasn't. I was …"

She was going to say _disappointed_, but she didn't want to get into it with Dally as he told her that _disappointed _was a parole officer's word. They'd had that fight too many times since they'd been married.

"Well, it doesn't matter," she said. "I'm home now. And I _am _happy to see you."

Another almost smile twitched around Dally's mouth, but he didn't let it happen. Smiling was still for the weak, and Lucy knew that. She knew that when she agreed to stay married to him all these years.

"Did he ask about me?"

Lucy didn't know what to say. Soda was so busy trying to take care of everybody in that room … so busy trying to make sure Pony didn't cry himself to death, so busy trying to make sure that Sadie was OK, and so busy trying to make sure Elenore would remember his face … he hadn't asked about Dally. Lucy wasn't even sure if Soda recognized that Dally wasn't there. But if Dally was going through all the trouble of wondering, Lucy didn't see any point in telling him the truth.

"Yeah," she said. "He sure did."

* * *

**Hinton owns **_**The Outsiders. **_**The first song that Sadie sings in Soda's dream is "She Cried" by Jay and the Americans, which I don't own. I do, however, own Sadie's apparent distaste for Jay and the Americans. I also quote The Velvet Underground's "I'll Be Your Mirror" in here, as it's a staple of the 'A&A' universe, but I clearly don't own it. I quote "Reflections" by The Supremes and claim no ownership. Also, if you don't know, Wilfred Owen is (like Sassoon) a WWI poet. Gotta love that character development.**


	3. Chapter 3

"Darry's making the cake," Lucy said. "I feel bad, since my mom said she could do it, but you know my mother."

"'S it bad if I say 'unfortunately?'" Dally asked. He was hovering over Elenore as she toddled around the living room floor, making sure she didn't wipe out. It was, he thought, the only thing he was good for as a parent.

"Yes."

"Sorry. Still true."

"She's so wishy-washy. One minute she's absolutely in love with Elenore, and the next, she asks me if I'm worried that Elenore has some sort of … serial-killer gene."

"Doesn't she know I've never _actually _plugged a guy?"

"She doesn't believe you. And some days, neither do I."

Dally rolled his eyes, and Lucy laughed as she picked up a few of her books and clothes. The next day would be Elenore's first birthday – the first anniversary of the day Soda told Dally to turn back around and go meet his daughter – and Dr. and Mrs. Bennet had agreed to open their house for a kind of birthday party for the baby. When Lucy dropped by to invite the Curtises (well, Darry and Pony, anyway), she saw the relief on Darry's face to know that he wouldn't have to host an entire child's birthday party in his house. After he figured that out, he was more than happy to make the cake.

"So, whaddya do at a kid's birthday party, anyway?" Dally asked.

"What do you mean?" Lucy asked.

"Thought it was a pretty clear question."

Lucy shrugged.

"I don't know if there's any one specific thing," she said. "You talk to the other adults. You make the kid feel important, even though the kid won't remember this party in less than an hour. You take photos so when she's older, you can remind her that when she turned one, a bunch of people loved her and cared for her and wanted her to feel important. If you're anything like my mother, you whip out these particular photographs when your daughter has made a fist at _another _child on the playground for calling her a witch because she could read."

"That happened to you? More than once?"

"There was a fundamentalist Christian family on our block when we lived in Illinois. They weren't nice. Irony of all ironies."

Dally snorted, trying to be amused, but he was just thinking of Mrs. Bennet's face when Lucy told her that of course they weren't going to baptize Elenore. Dally clearly wasn't religious, and the Bennets were only nominally Catholic. Mrs. Bennet, in particular, was only extremely Catholic when someone suggested they might not be. When she asked Lucy if she wanted to risk Elenore's not getting into heaven, Lucy quickly countered, "You once made fried chicken on Ash Wednesday _and _Good Friday." And even though Mrs. Bennet shut her mouth after that, Dally had been thinking about it for months. He wondered if Lucy would have been better off with some good Catholic boy named John or Frank or some other name that came from a saint. Mrs. Bennet rattled off a few on that night she insinuated that Elenore was going to hell. She didn't know that Dallas Winston had been named after the place where he'd been conceived, or so his folks assumed. His old man had taken a car he wasn't even old enough to drive and took them all the way to Texas. They were never caught, either. Of course Lucy would have been better off. She would have earned her English degree without worrying about how to use it (because her good Catholic husband would have been a doctor, too). She wouldn't have a baby already. She wouldn't wake up in the middle of the night and feel around the bed to make sure her good Catholic husband hadn't bolted while she was asleep (Dally knew she did that every night, and it pissed him off too much that she still thought so little of his ability to stay – to love her and to love Elenore.). With him, she had to worry about working a job or two. Even on the days she had an exam, she still had a baby. Dally knew he wasn't good enough for Lucy or for Elenore. He knew it every time Mrs. Bennet said his name. There was little (if anything) he could do to make himself look better to her, so he just stood there and took every barb she poked him with. It was better, he figured, than barbing her back.

"I never been to a kid's birthday party," Dally said. "Not even when I _was _a kid."

Lucy stopped picking up the living room and wrinkled her nose at Dally.

"Do you mean it?" she asked.

"Course I do. I wouldn't lie about somethin' like that. I'd lie about other stuff. Not about that. My folks weren't real happy that me or V had been born, see, so they weren't about to celebrate their biggest mistakes."

"You never even went to one of Soda's parties?"

Dally shook his head.

"I never went. Didn't seem like I should."

"Why not?"

Of course, Dally got quiet. He stooped forward a little to scoop Elenore off the ground. She was surprised for a moment, but when she saw who had her, she turned her head to look at him, smiled brighter than Dally could remember her smiling before, and said, "Dad!"

"Yeah," he said, putting her down in her crib to play with a few blocks that were in there (an early present from Aunt V – or at least, that was what Lucy and Dally had to assume, since they came addressed to Elenore without saying who they were from). "That's me. You know your name?"

"Uh-luh-nore," was the vague sound from the baby.

"Are you happy about that spelling, Dally?" Lucy asked. "She sounds like she's asking whether or not her name is Lenore."

"Ain't that what you thought would be funny?"

"This is not the time."

Dally took a step back, wondering if he would ever be in the right place at the right time. At the moment, he was quite sure the answer was negative. He'd found Lucy, but he knew that in the end, he'd prove detrimental to her. He had Elenore, but he was certain that once Elenore became old enough, she wouldn't want a thing to do with him. Before he really noticed it, Dally wished like hell that Soda was there to act like he could push him around. It was so much easier for Dally to do the right thing when he could use somebody else as a scapegoat. Without Soda, all of his decisions (even the good ones – especially the good ones) would have to be his and his alone. Dally wasn't sure he was prepared for that.

"You never answered me," Lucy said.

"About what?"

"You never answered me about birthday parties. How come you never went to one of Soda's parties when you were little?"

"Told you already. Didn't seem like I should."

"But that doesn't make any sense."

Dally reached into the crib and covered Elenore's ears out of habit.

"Why the fuck not?"

Lucy sighed. Dally's ability to challenge her and ask her questions, even though she usually hated criticism, was part of the reason she loved him so much. He wasn't afraid to tangle with her where so many others were horrified by even the prospect. She crossed her arms across her chest and tried to think of the best way to say the things she felt she needed to.

"It doesn't make sense because they really …" she couldn't make herself say the right words. She wanted to, but she was afraid that if she did, Dally would pack a bag and move far away – forget that he had ever been married and that he ever had a daughter who lit up like a lighting bug every time he walked into the room. But when she saw the look in his eyes (desperate, but unaware of their desperation), she decided it was better to swallow her pride and say the right words, regardless of how soft they sounded.

"They really loved you," Lucy said. Her voice was quieter than it had ever been, probably. "_She _really loved you."

Dally choked on his own saliva for a moment. It was like his brain forgot to swallow, but his tongue didn't. He didn't like to think about Mrs. Curtis very often. The last time Soda and Sadie tried to bring her up, he shut down the conversation like it never happened. In truth, Dally had a lot of guilt about Mrs. Curtis. He had nothing to do with the auto wreck. At least, he had nothing to do with it _directly_. But what no one knew – not the Curtis siblings, not Johnny, and not even Lucy Bennet herself – was that the reason Mr. and Mrs. Curtis were trying to get home from their getaway in the country was that Dally had gotten himself into trouble again. He'd gotten caught bashing in the windows of his old man's shitty car, and when he called the Curtis place for help, Pony told him they were out of town. Before the accident, Dally never particularly saw Darry as the guy who could bail him out, so he didn't bother. He asked if there was a number for them, and Pony, dumb kid he was, gave it to him. They wouldn't have been on the road then if not for him. It was a secret he'd carry with him until he died … which should have been a long time ago.

Shouldn't it have been?

"You don't have to be Mr. Domestic at Elenore's party tomorrow," Lucy said. "You just have to be Dally."

"You want me to beat the tar outta guys and get blackout drunk?"

"That's not the Dally I had in mind."

"But you ain't denyin' it's who I am?"

Lucy didn't say anything. She didn't have to. She'd shared her thoughts on the whole _duality _thing with him plenty of times before. According to the future Professor Bennet, _duality _was a thing that everyday folks came up with to make themselves feel better about the shit they did wrong. You weren't half fuck-up and half hero. It was a singular swirl of contradictory garbage that made you a whole person. You didn't really have to choose, and doing one bad thing didn't cancel out all the good things you might have done. When Dally asked her (nonchalantly, of course, as he had no real interest in her _philosophy _bullshit) if the same was true for the reverse, she gave him a short nod. It was all he needed.

"I'd prefer it if you didn't get blackout drunk at our child's first birthday party," Lucy said. "And if you could keep the 'beating the tar out of a guy' to maybe one guy, if he really deserves it … I'd appreciate that."

"So you're giving me permission to beat somebody up at this party?"

"_If _he deserves it."

"What if he's my sister?"

"Dally."

"OK, OK."

He realized that he was still covering Elenore's ears, and when he lifted his hands, the baby giggled. If he'd been a different kind of guy, he might have smiled at the sound of her tiny voice. She sure was a pretty little baby, that Elenore – tough, too. Lucy had taken her to get her shots a few months earlier, and even though the doctors said she would wail like nobody's business, Elenore Winston swallowed hard and rode the pain straight to hell. It didn't matter that she was just a baby. Dally was impressed with her. His daughter was a tough broad. Lucy made some offhand joke about Elenore taking after her father, but Dally knew better. He might have been made of stone, but he was nothing compared to Bennet herself. That woman was made of iron.

And that was why he'd never be right for her, no matter how many months (years, now, which still knocked the wind out of him) she spent trying to convince him differently.

"Hope you're havin' a good day today, kid," Dally said into the crib. "You gotta spend tomorrow with your grandma, and she's the best at … givin' headaches."

"Dally."

"OK, OK."

The family was silent for a little while. Lucy wandered over to her bookshelves and scanned the titles, looking for something she could take to the party tomorrow that would keep her from slapping her mother across the face if she said anything foolish (which was essentially a guarantee). Now that she was well over eighteen years old, she was no longer required to take a book with her everywhere she went to keep herself out of a brawl. Still, in the five years she had been mandated by the court to read through her impulsivity, she had gotten used to it – depended on it, really, was more like it. She was deciding between _War and Peace _(long as hell) and _Les Misérables _(long as hell but felt even longer) when she heard Dally say something from Elenore's crib.

"This'd be easier if Soda was here."

Lucy's heart dropped into her knees, and her breath left her lungs completely. She could have said something. She could have told Dally that he was more than capable of being Elenore's daddy without Soda's help. But she didn't. She felt guilty about it, but she didn't think of Dally at all. She was too busy thinking about what must have been happening to Soda.

* * *

_April 24, 1968_

_Dear Elenore,_

_ I know this letter wont come to you till after your birthday but I thought I'd send it anyway. I also know you wont be able to read it until you're bigger but your mama can read it to you for now. Happy first birthday baby! I hope you're having a great day and that your mama and daddy got you something you like. Knowing your mama you probably got some kinda book. Knowing your daddy you probably got some kinda weapon that your mama aint too thrilled about. Dont tell your daddy but I think the book's a tougher present. You're gonna learn and be smart like they are. I'm already real proud of you._

_ Miss you already kid. Have a good birthday for me. Darry making you a cake? Lucky girl. I'll see you before you know it. _

_Love you – Uncle Soda_

* * *

The next evening was a Tuesday evening, and Elenore Winston was a full year old. Somehow, everyone had managed to get out of a night shift or an evening class so that they could (albeit awkwardly, given the location at the Bennet family household) come together and celebrate the gang's only baby as a whole group. Before they could head over to Lucy's parents' house, Lucy was slicking back Elenore's head of short dark hair (that was getting thicker each day) and trying to figure out which color bow she wanted to put on her baby's head – red or pink.

"Your father would say that red makes you look tougher, and he's right about that," Lucy mused. She made a point to speak to Elenore like she was a person, not a baby. Sadie smiled when Lucy shared that with her because that was how Mrs. Curtis had talked to her children when they were small, too.

Elenore's ears appeared to perk up when Lucy said the word _father_. It almost melted Lucy's heart, but it couldn't melt it all the way. Every time Elenore showed love for her father, Lucy feared that it would be the day Dally finally walked out on them. She swallowed (her saliva and her pride) and continued her work on Elenore's hair.

"Your grandmother, however, would want you to wear pink because you're her pretty little baby girl," Lucy said. She tried not to sound patronizing, but she knew it was no use. It was hard not to patronize her mother.

"Don't tell him so, but your dad is so right," Lucy said. "Your grandmother is the best at giving people headaches."

Elenore gurgled, and Lucy decided to interpret it as a laugh.

"We're going to go with the red," Lucy said and clipped the bow into Elenore's hair. "I think it's more important to look nice for your dad and me than for your grandma, even if she is letting us use her house."

She picked Elenore up and balanced her on her hip while she grabbed a pair of white shoes ("Why do ya need the kid to wear military-grade-fuckin' shoes?" Dally always asked. "She ain't even walkin' much.") for Elenore. They would have headed downstairs right away, but as Lucy reached for the door, Dally opened it from the other side.

"What are you doing here?" Lucy asked.

"I live here, man."

"But you're supposed to be with Darry, helping him with that cake."

"I was. Well, I was on my way, anyway. Then this chick and this kid stopped me."

"Dally, you're the one who came up here."

"Not you an' Elenore. This other chick and this other kid. A boy. Older 'n Elenore."

Lucy wrinkled her nose. She really wasn't following.

"Where?" was about all she could ask.

"Downstairs. I was closin' up the store for your friend Eddie or whatever his name is …"

"You _know _that's his name."

"I do, but it's sure fun to mess with him. I was closin' up, and before I could lock the door, this blonde chick walks in with this kid who's probably three years old. She says she knows you, but she's wearin' a lot of pink. I told her I didn't think my wife could hang around somebody who wears that much pink. She still says she knows you."

Suddenly, Lucy's eyes widened with excitement. She grabbed Elenore's hands and clapped them together since she couldn't use her own.

"I think I _do _know her," Lucy said. "Is she still downstairs?"

"She wouldn't leave even when I told her to."

"Because you were probably rude about it. She doesn't respond to rude people."

"What makes you so sure you even know her, huh?"

"I do. I know I do. Come downstairs – I'll introduce you. Formally, this time."

"I don't do nothin' if it's formal."

"You'll do what I tell you."

"Yeah, you ain't wrong."

The family of three walked down the stairs (Elenore, of course, was carried.) and into the shop. Just as Dally had said, there was a blonde woman in a pink party dress sitting behind the cash register, thumbing through a copy of _Seventeenth Summer_. A three-year-old boy stood near her, drinking a paper cup of lemonade.

Dally exhaled with frustration and pointed to the woman behind the counter.

"See?" he asked. "She just makes herself at home. She don't work here."

"I told you," the woman answered, not looking up from her book. "I'm with your wife. She won't mind if I sit here and wait for her."

"She doesn't!" Lucy said.

With Elenore in her arms, she bolted to the cash register, squealing with delight – delight Dally had never seen – when she met the other woman in the store. The woman stood up and squealed back with the same delight. It was like a scene out of a bad beach movie that he and Lucy used to use an excuse to make out.

"Lynnie!" Lucy said. "What are you _doing _here?"

"What do you mean, 'What are you doing here?'" the woman, now identified as _Lynnie_, asked. "You invited me to my baby cousin's first birthday party; I'm going to make it to my baby cousin's first birthday party."

"But all the way from New Haven?"

"Anything for you, kid."

Cautiously, Dally wandered over to his family, which had apparently grown in size when he wasn't even looking. He couldn't have been more puzzled if he wanted to be (and he didn't). Lucy was the toughest girl in all of Tulsa, and Dally was sure of that. She wore leather better than he did. She packed an unbelievable punch for someone her size. In fact, at this point, she might have even been tougher than Violet or Jane Randle. What was she doing, so excited to see a woman wearing pale pink? And how could they _possibly _be related?

"You wanna tell me what's goin' on, here?" Dally asked.

"Depends," Lynnie (the woman in pink – _pink_) looked him dead in the eye. "You wanna apologize to me for saying I didn't know my own cousin?"

Dally bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. That – that was definitely how this broad could be related to his wife. He made a note not to judge pink so quickly.

"'M sorry," he muttered. "I didn't know you were comin'."

"Neither did I," Lucy said, still blown away by the fact that Lynnie was there at all. "Dally, this is my cousin, Lynne Collins, but everybody calls her Lynnie. She's my mother's brother's daughter."

"I am," Lynnie said. "But it's Lynnie Jones now. Divorced the bastard Collins, got my old name back. A story of victory for the ages."

"As soon as I got used to calling her by her new name, she goes and switches it on me again. Lynnie Jones. Good to have you back."

Lucy wrapped her arm around her cousin and beamed. Dally was still shocked by the amount of energy she had in the moment. It was very ... not Lucy.

"Either way," Lucy said. "Lynnie and I were always good friends."

"That's right," Lynnie added. "I even wanted to be friends with this kid when I was fourteen, she was eleven, and she was a tagalong on the beach when she came to visit during the summer."

Dally nodded, pretending to be invested in the conversation. He'd heard of Lynnie and had seen Lucy smile whenever she got one of her (admittedly rare) letters in the mail, but he never thought he'd actually have to meet her. He wished that someone had warned him. Dally didn't like to meet anyone new, but he especially didn't like to meet members of Lucy's family without at least a few days of preparation. Over the summer, when Elenore was just a few months old, Mrs. Bennet's folks had flown in from Connecticut to meet their great granddaughter, and it took weeks for Dally to feel even the least bit comfortable having to shake their hands like he was some sort of nice guy. That had been torture, and Lucy didn't even like her grandparents all that much. She loved Lynnie, and for Dally, that was nothing short of terrifying.

"I told you I was going to send her an invitation to Elenore's birthday party, but I never figured she'd ever be able to make it!" Lucy said, more to her cousin than her husband.

"You underestimate me," Lynnie said. "I haven't seen you since … when was it, again?"

"The summer before I started my senior year," Lucy said.

"Right, of course." Lynnie's eyes, filled with mock cruelty, flickered over to Dally. "Then it looks like you got pretty busy."

Lucy looked down at Elenore, then back at Lynnie to ask if she wanted to hold her. As a mother herself, Lynnie knew what she was trying to say and took the little one in her arms. To Lucy's surprise, Elenore did well in a strange woman's arms. She must have known how much her mother adored Lynnie.

"Hi, Elenore," Lynnie said. "I'm Lynnie."

The boy with the cup of lemonade came rushing up to his mother's side and tugged on the bottom of her dress, almost as though he was jealous of the baby.

"And this is your cousin, Jimmy," Lynnie said. "He's a good kid. You'll like him. Say hi, Jimmy."

Naturally, Jimmy said nothing. He just kept sipping on his lemonade, trying to forget that his mother was holding and being sweet to a baby other than him. Lucy immediately noticed.

"I know I haven't made it to New Haven since he was just a brand new baby," she said. "But he seems a little sad. Is he OK?"

"Most days," Lynnie said. "It's been hard on him since Big Jim and I split last year. Word to the wise, Lucy Bennet: If you have a son, don't name him after his father. It's almost a cosmic guarantee that he'll run off with his secretary and leave you in the lurch. His _secretary_, Lucy! How cliché can you get?"

Lucy muttered some sort of sympathy for Lynnie and Jimmy; then Dally begged her to get a move on since they couldn't rightly have a first birthday party for Elenore without a cake, and Darry needed his help sooner rather than later. As they locked up Great Books and filed outside, Lucy had to bite her lip to keep from smiling at her husband. When she and her parents had first moved to Tulsa back in '62, she never would have figured Dallas Winston for the kind of guy who'd ever be rattled about making it on time for his daughter's first birthday party. Hell, she never would have figured Dallas Winston for the kind of guy who'd have lived to the age of twenty (and almost twenty-one). Of course, she was glad he did. It was hard to picture a life without him now, even if he was getting softer by the day.

Wasn't he?

* * *

Lilly Cade and Katie Mathews insisted on controlling the music at the party, which would have angered Lucy (who liked things to happen in exactly her preferred fashion) if they hadn't done a really good job picking the songs. After everybody sang "Happy Birthday" to Elenore (and after Elenore had smashed her face in a tiny cake that her grandfather had made just for her), the youngest girls in the gang put on a Sam and Dave record, which pleased Lucy.

"Finally, you understand what I mean when I say that Motown is the tuffest music out there!" she said. "This sounds like home should sound like."

"Lucy, dear, I don't know how many times we have to remind you," Mrs. Bennet said. "We're not from Detroit. We lived in Detroit for less than a full year. We're from New Haven, Connecticut."

"But no music comes out of Connecticut, Mom," Lucy said.

"That's not true!" Lynnie piped up from the back of the house, where she was cutting an extra slice of cake for Jimmy. "We've got … Tommy Dorsey!"

"Gene Pitney," Mrs. Bennet said. "You like him."

A wave of sudden sadness passed over Lucy's heart when she thought of what Two-Bit would say to that if he were there that night. He'd have comically dropped his plate and loudly repeated, "You like _Gene Pitney_? Gross!" Lucy would have given anything for Two-Bit to be there, at Elenore's party, and not out there. Over there. Whatever they were supposed to call it. She didn't care. He'd be home in three months. He'd be home in three months, and then, both Katie Mathews and Lilly Cade could finally breathe again.

"Fanny Crosby," Dr. Bennet added from behind his piece of chocolate cake. "Nobody ought to forget the lady who wrote 'Blessed Assurance.'"

At the sound of her father's voice (and the sharpness of his joke), Lucy left her worries about Two-Bit (which were really worries about Sodapop) at the door and let out a laugh. She waltzed over to the couch and lifted Elenore from Carrie Shepard's lap and twirled her around the room.

"I know you're probably wishing I was your dad right about now," Lucy said.

"Dad!" Elenore said, almost as though she thought she might be able to summon Dally with only the power of her little voice.

"He's around," Lucy said. "He just needed a minute to be a big, grown-up man. You'll understand when you're a big, grown-up woman … then again, I don't really understand, and that's what the government says I am now. So, who knows?"

Elenore smiled down at her mother, and Lucy smiled back. In truth, the only reason she wasn't worried about where Dally was or what he was doing was because she could see his back from the window. He was on the front lawn, right in her field of vision. Better yet, Sadie was standing right across from him, and he'd never be able to run away from Lucy and Elenore if Sadie was right there. She'd never let it happen.

* * *

Both Dally and Sadie had followed Johnny outside while he had a smoke. Sadie had never smoked (Her mother, a notorious smoker who eventually learned it was a horrid habit, warned her not to when she was quite young.), and Dally had been trying to quit since he decided to stick around for Elenore. If he was going to stick around, then he was going to stick around long enough to stay alive. It was ironic that Dallas Winston wanted to survive now, but it was true. Nevertheless, quitting was harder than even the toughest guy in Tulsa could manage, and to just stand outside with Johnny while he lit up … that wasn't half bad.

Sadie was bitching up a storm about Lucy bringing Lynnie to the party.

"I can't believe she said that Lynnie was like her best friend when they were little kids," Sadie said. "Can you believe it, Johnny?"

"C'mon, Sadie," Johnny said. "Don't drag me into this. Ya dig?"

"But you have to admit, it's wild. This Lynnie chick is _not _Lucy's best friend. _I'm _Lucy's best friend. Everyone knows this. It's one of those things that everyone knows. Everyone knows that one and one is two, the sky is blue, and Lucy Bennet's best friend is Sadie Lou!"

"Relax, would ya?" Dally begged. "You're Lucy's best friend. Nobody ever thought different. How come you're jealous, anyway?"

Sadie exhaled, careful not to inhale any of Johnny's smoke. Since she was a little girl, she was paranoid that even a whiff of cigarette smoke would get her hooked. As an adult, she knew that was irrational, but there was something irrational about everybody, she figured.

"I ain't really jealous," Sadie said. "I know me and Lucy are the best of best friends that anybody's ever seen. Sorry, Johnny. You an' Pony got nothin' on me and Lucy."

"Of course we don't," Johnny said. "I don't think anybody's ever loved anybody like you love Lucy."

Sadie was too wrapped up in her own thoughts to understand that her husband was dropping a hint – a hint that he was worried that Sadie cared more about her friendships than she cared about him. Perhaps it was a good thing that Sadie didn't catch it. At the time, she probably would have _admitted _that her friendships, especially Lucy and Jane, were more important than anything. Anything, of course, except for …

No. She didn't even want to think it for too long. If she did, then she felt like she was jinxing it. It didn't make a lot of sense, but it was still true.

"It's just hard already, ya know?" Sadie said. She didn't even think twice about how weird it was that she was opening up in front of Dallas Winston – how weird it was that Dallas Winston had asked the question _prompting _her to open up. "With Soda gone, it's like … it's like I don't know who I fit in with. Ya dig?"

Johnny coughed in surprise. Sadie put her hand on his shoulder in concern.

"Y'alright, hon?" she asked.

Johnny sputtered a few times more and then nodded.

"Yeah," he said, keeping his voice soft as ever. "Yeah, I'm alright."

She delicately squeezed his free hand once and then let go, almost as if Johnny had meant nothing to her – at least, that was how he read it. Dally noticed there was something off between the two of them and narrowed his eyes at the space between their hands, not sure whether or not he should find his way to intervene. Lucy would probably tell him to back off. Of course, Lucy wasn't standing out there. He was.

"You don't know who you fit in with?" he asked, his voice bitter with sarcasm. "Take a look at your hand, kid."

Sadie looked down at her hands, trying to figure out what in the world Dally could be talking about … and then she saw the simple silver band around her ring finger. Her heart felt heavy, both because of Johnny and because Soda had made them those rings before he was gone. Of course, then, her heart felt heavier for thinking of Soda and Johnny in the same breath. What was the matter with her? Why couldn't she just be a good wife? She loved Johnny a lot. Why didn't she know how to show her love for her husband like she knew how to show her love for her brother? She thought back to that play she and Lucy read in eleventh-grade English, _Antigone_. There was one line in particular that she underlined and memorized in their anthology textbook: "I am content, for I shall rest beside him; / His love will answer mine." At the time, she really wasn't sure why it had struck a chord with her sixteen-year-old heart, but now … now she knew. And she felt awful for it. It wasn't that she was in love with her own twin or even in love with herself. That would be a whole host of problems that she wasn't willing to tackle. No, she felt like no one, no matter how much they loved her or she loved them, could understand what it meant to be Sadie Cade like Sodapop Curtis. No matter how much Sadie loved Johnny, she could never manage to be close to him like she could be close to that version of herself outside of herself.

And now, he was gone. And if he didn't come back, then neither would Sadie.

"You're lucky you got Johnny," Dally said. "You could've ended up with some shit husband like me if you played your cards wrong. But you got Johnny. And he's there for you. Ain't you, Johnny, man?"

Johnny looked up and nodded, his black eyes still filled with fear and uncertainty. Dally nodded his head toward Sadie, who was still staring at her hands with guilt and confusion. Immediately, Johnny picked up on Dally's motion and put his hand on Sadie's shoulder. In that moment, Dally noticed that Sadie was a little taller than Johnny. It seemed to fit.

"I'm always there for you," Johnny said. He spoke directly to Sadie, but Dally could still hear him. "I love you."

As Sadie murmured to Johnny that she loved him, too, Dally thought about how easy it was for the two of them to just _say that _to each other. There was no doubt in his mind that he and Lucy loved each other as much as Sadie and Johnny – maybe even more. There were even moments in their day-to-day life when Dally would look at Lucy doing anything, and he'd effortlessly think to himself that he loved her. The same could be said for the way he felt about Elenore, his own baby. When she smiled at him and called him _Dad_ and when he covered her ears so that she wouldn't hear him swearing, he always thought, _I love you_. But why couldn't he say it? Even with Bennet's influence, he still couldn't make himself tell her what she needed to hear. She deserved to hear it, and he could never say it to her in uncertain terms. Did he really expect her to stay with a guy who couldn't give her what she needed and deserved? Why did he care? Why did he care _so much_? He looked at Sadie and Johnny again. He envied them. He envied how easy it seemed to be. How … calm.

After a moment or two, Sadie looked up at Dally with her curious face. He'd known her almost all her life, and after getting to know her (for real), he almost admired that face.

"What about you?" she asked. "How're you doin'?"

"Doin' pretty good," Dally said. "It's my kid's birthday, and I lived to see it."

"That's not what I meant. I meant … how are you doin' with Soda bein' gone?"

Without his cognizance, Dally shifted his eyes toward the ground and thought about the kid. He really was just a kid. They were about a year apart, but Dally always seemed so much older than his years, and Soda, so much younger. That wasn't because he was dumb (He was dumb in some ways and genius in others.) or because he was childish, but there was something about him that always seemed like … like he needed somebody. It was the strangest thing. Soda always seemed like he needed somebody else's help and somebody else's love, and yet, he was one of the only people in the world whose help Dally knew he needed. He'd never say it out loud, of course. But that didn't matter. Soda knew that, and so did Sadie.

"I ain't worried about him," Dally finally said. His voice was thick, and he was only halfway telling the truth. "He's gonna be OK."

Sadie nodded (only because she didn't know what else to do).

"Yeah," she said, but she only halfway believed herself. "How about you?"

Again, Dally didn't have to say anything. Everyone on that front lawn knew the answer. Dally would be OK … except for when he wasn't. And though he was too proud to admit it, even in his own thoughts, he really wished Soda were there. Soda made it OK for him to feel the things he usually didn't think it was OK for him to feel. But maybe Sadie and Johnny, with their closeness, with their shared love of the guy who caused most gaping absence any of them had ever felt, could help out now.

* * *

While Dally was still outside with Johnny and Sadie, Lucy sat in her parents' living room with Lilly, Katie, and Carrie. Elenore sat on Lilly's lap, and Lilly happily bounced the baby on her knee. Their personalities went well together. Lilly was always grinning, and when she thought it warranted one, Elenore could flash the most beautiful smile in the whole world. Lilly was positively enchanted with the baby.

"Oh, Lucy, she's so beautiful," Lilly said.

"She looks like you," Katie added. "She kinda frowns like Dally, though."

"Dally gets a kick out of that," Lucy said. "So do I."

"I think I wanna be a mother," Lilly said. It was out of the blue and scared the hell out of everyone sitting around in that cluster, but it especially scared the hell out of Lucy.

"What?" she asked. "You're only finishing high school next month. That's not … you gotta wait a little while until you have a baby, for your own sake."

"I know that," Lilly said. "Of course, _you _got pregnant with this beautiful girl the summer after _you _graduated from high school, so it's anybody's game, ain't it?"

"That's different. I was married."

"That's the one thing ya did right," Carrie said. "Everything else …"

"Oh, can it, Carrie."

Lucy looked at Lilly with Elenore. For the first time since she'd moved into the neighborhood all those years ago, when Lilly Cade was just twelve years old, Lucy was finally able to see Lilly as a woman. Her eighteenth birthday was two months earlier, but even then, Lucy still perceived Lilly as the little one – the one who needed the most protection, the one who'd been kissed and killed before. Now, with Elenore in her grasp, Lilly finally looked bold and brave enough to take care of herself. And that scared the hell out of Lucy.

"I know it sounds strange, me wanting to be a mom," Lilly said, though she didn't take her eyes off the baby in her arms. "If it weren't for growin' up real near to Sadie's mom and Katie's mom an' seein' Lucy with Elenore this past year, I wouldn't have anybody's example to follow. But it ain't just about my old lady treatin' me bad. It's about doin' better than she ever did. And I don't know. I think I could. What do you think?"

Lucy had a lot of questions that she'd never quite been able to answer. What had Mrs. Cade been like before Johnny was born? What was she like before Lilly? Despite her general cynicism, Lucy wasn't convinced that people were born evil. If she thought that, she wouldn't have fallen in love with Dally, and she certainly wouldn't have wanted to stay married to him. She never asked Lilly or anybody else the questions she'd always had about the Cade parents, especially the mother. It felt like too great of a taboo. But when Lucy thought about Lilly being a mother one day, she wasn't scared that Lilly would follow the example of her own mother. There was a goodness in Lilly's heart that her parents had managed not to corrupt, and the thought of Lilly passing on that goodness to a baby all her own … it seemed both possible and terrifying.

"I think you gotta get you a man first," Katie joked and took a long drink of her Coke.

Lilly blanched, thinking about Two-Bit. It had been years, and her crush on him was still completely intact. When she thought on it, it really wasn't much of a crush. It was just love. Maybe it had always been love. She thought back to that night when she was turning sixteen, and though she had always kept it a secret (even from Johnny and Katie), she had to admit to herself that she thought about it everyday. After that night, what choice did she have but to love him? It ate her up inside until just before Two-Bit left for Vietnam and told her that if he had been able to stick around, maybe he would have realized that he was in love with Lilly, too. They'd exchanged a few letters in that time, and Lilly felt fairly confident that when he finally came back home, he'd want to marry her. She was ready. If Johnny could be married, then she certainly could be, too. If Johnny and Sadie could talk about having babies one day, then she could talk to Two-Bit about that, too. It had to work that way. It just had to.

"Get a man and _marry him_," Carrie offered.

"Oh, please," Lilly said. "Carrie, you are so … Lucy, what's that word I like? I learned it last week when we were talking about that Greek mythology book you like so much. The one that means _old-school_."

"_Antediluvian_," Lucy said.

"Right. Carrie, you are so _antediluvian_."

Carrie rolled her eyes. She had been friends with these people (namely Lilly) since the day she was born, practically. How did they not understand where she was coming from? How did they not understand why she held the values she did? She was a _Shepard_. She'd seen her brothers hauled in and out of the station – mostly for bad shit they did, but sometimes for bad shit that a rich kid pinned on them. Most importantly, she'd seen her sister – the person who was supposed to be there for her when her brothers didn't know how to be – up and abandon her to be with some guy who didn't know how to treat her right. Angela got out of town and married some guy when she was barely sixteen years old. She had a son of her own. Carrie only knew because she'd heard Evie, Steve's girl, talking about it one time. It had been almost two years since Carrie or her brothers had had any contact with Angela. They didn't even know if she was still Angela Shepard, but if Carrie had to wager, she'd say no. Angela had always resented the place she came from.

It broke Carrie's heart to know that she had a nephew out there, and she didn't even know him. It broke Carrie's heart even more to know that she had a sister out there, and she didn't even know her – not anymore, and probably not when they lived under the same roof, either. She lived her whole life terrified that she was going to turn out like Angela, and now that she was old enough to know better, she saw that she was probably part of the reason why Angela bailed on them. She couldn't even count on her own sister's support because her own sister looked at her like she was the devil's favorite daughter. After losing contact with her sister, Carrie's values were no longer an attempt to avoid turning out like Angela. There was a tiny part of her that hoped that if she cultivated enough stability back home, then maybe – though it was a big maybe – Angela would come back. Maybe she'd bring her baby boy, too.

"Whadda you think, Lucy?" Lilly asked. "Ya think I'd make a good mom?"

Lucy looked in between Lilly (her first attempt at raising a little baby girl) and Elenore in her arms (her most successful attempt, thus far). It was difficult to picture Lilly raising anybody when she still had that idealism about her. She still had this belief that everything would work out the way she wanted it to in the end. Lucy still didn't know what made her believe in her world like that, and part of her was a little worried about Lilly for that. Nonetheless, in the end, maybe that was part of what made Lilly Cade so strong. Maybe Lucy needed to admire her ability to escape into something beautiful.

"Sure, Lil," Lucy finally said. "I think you'd be a good mom. But, uh, that baby you're holding _happens _to be mine, and she _happens _to need a diaper change."

"I was wondering why she felt heavier all of a sudden."

Lucy laughed and took Elenore off Lilly's lap. They walked upstairs into what used to be Lucy's room, but Dr. and Mrs. Bennet had converted into a nursery for Elenore just a few days after the shock of Lucy's pregnancy wore off. As Lucy walked upstairs with the baby, Katie leaned in to make fun of Lilly.

"I think in order to be a good mom, ya have to be able to know when the kid needs its diaper changed," Katie said. "As a matter of fact, I thought that was rule number one."

"Aww, shut up, Katie," Lilly said. "Don't you want nephews or nieces? Or both?"

Carrie sighed. It was a tad more audible than she'd hoped, apparently, because Katie and Lilly cocked their eyebrows at her like she was crazy. Their expressions surprised Carrie. She figured Angela's getting knocked up by one of the Brumly Boys was gossip hot enough to make breakfast on. Maybe she was wrong.

She wasn't wrong. Lilly and Katie could sniff gossip out from a hundred miles away if they really tried. It was their lifeblood. In fact, they'd probably known about Angela's baby and teen marriage before Carrie, her own kid sister, ever found out. They'd never gossip about anything that would hurt one of their friends, and even though she was real weird and liked to put a wet blanket on all their fun, Carrie Shepard was their friend. They'd never say anything that might really get to her. Didn't she know that?

"Sometimes, I think you're delusional," Katie said. Her voice didn't tease or jest. It was realer than it had ever been.

That was enough to scare anybody who might have heard it.

* * *

Darry was cleaning up in the kitchen. Even though it was Dr. Bennet's house, and he'd insisted on cleaning up, Darry sent him away. It was more important for him to play with his one and only granddaughter on her first birthday. Besides, Darry always felt ineffectual if he didn't pitch in and help at somebody else's house after any kind of party. His father had taught him that when he was growing into a young man, and he'd never let it go.

As he scrubbed the dishes (and chuckled to himself about how Ponyboy would pitch a conniption if he had to do them, too), he heard footsteps enter the small kitchen. When he looked up, he saw Lucy's blonde cousin in the pink dress and her young son walking toward him. Because he was Darry Curtis, he smiled politely and went right back to washing the dishes. But the blonde just didn't leave him alone.

"Are you Darry?" she asked.

"That's what they tell me," Darry said.

"Who are _they_?"

"I don't know. We talk about 'em a lot, but I don't think I've ever seen 'em."

"Well, if it's of any comfort to you, I don't anyone's ever seen them. So, you're not alone."

"Good. Though I don't mind bein' alone. Lets me think about things."

He stopped and furrowed his brow at his own decision. What was he doing, saying something like that to a woman he'd only just met a few hours earlier? He wasn't even sure he remembered her name. Things were so hectic during the party.

"I'm Lynnie, by the way," she said. "Lucy's cousin."

Well. At least now, Darry knew her name.

"Right," he said. "I know."

Lynnie smirked. She knew that was a lie. When Lucy introduced the two of them, Darry was so busy trying to make sure there were enough plates and forks for Elenore's birthday cake that they probably could have told him he'd just won the lottery, and he wouldn't have remembered. However, Lynnie would find it damn near impossible to forget Darry. He made an excellent chocolate cake, and his muscles were a sight to behold. That was the kind of guy you couldn't just toss aside. You had to make an impression on a guy like that. She put her arm around her son and motioned for Darry to take a look at him, which he did.

"This is my son, Jimmy," Lynnie said. "He's three, and I think he has something he wants to tell you."

She knelt down to talk to Jimmy, who was maybe the shyest kid in the entire United States at the time. It was hard to get him to say anything, but he and Lynnie had been practicing all night. Part of it was because she wanted Jimmy to confront his social anxiety the best that he could. But another part of it was that Lynnie hoped to get to know Darry, and she thought he looked like the kind of guy who couldn't resist a cute kid with fat, rosy cheeks like Jimmy.

"Can you tell Darry what you said you were going to tell him?" Lynnie asked.

Shyly, Jimmy looked up at Darry and said, in a voice that reminded Darry a lot of Johnny's when they were all just little kids, "I liked your cake."

Darry stopped doing up the dishes, dried off his soapy hands, and smiled (really smiled) at Lynnie, this woman he'd never met before that night. It really was something. She'd gotten her shy kid to talk to him for her. What a move.

"Alright," he said. "How'd you get him to say that?"

"I didn't," Lynnie said, though it was clearly a playful lie. "Your cake is so good, it makes otherwise shy kids want to talk to you. Straight up."

"How long do you want me to pretend I believe that?"

Lynnie felt herself blush. Then, she felt herself become embarrassed for being a twenty-three-year-old woman with a son and a divorce under her belt who still felt the need to blush, which only made her blush more. At least Darry, the tallest and strongest-looking man she'd ever seen, looked amused. She was a little surprised by that. Earlier that night, she'd heard his kid brother, Ponyboy, say something about how Darry had no sense of humor at all. He seemed to be quite wrong about that. Maybe Darry's sense of humor was making the new girl in town look a little foolish. Lynnie accepted that. Anything was better than no sense of humor at all.

"Believe it or don't believe it," Lynnie finally said. "I'm not going to change my story."

"What if I asked you to? What if I asked you to _real nicely_?"

"I'd have to turn you down."

"That's really too bad."

And just like that, Lynnie blushed again. She hadn't planned on finding a cute guy when she visited her cousin in Tulsa, Oklahoma, ostensibly the most boring location in the entire country. She hadn't planned on meeting someone like Darry. And yet, she had. She had met him, found him attractive, and now, in a day and a half, she was supposed to leave for New Haven and never see him again. Of course, she _would _run into Big Jim and the woman he left her for, which sounded like nothing short of eternal torture. She exhaled softly, which confused Darry. He didn't think they were having a particularly stressful conversation. But he didn't know. He didn't need to know. It would be crazy if anyone found out that in that exact moment, Lynne Collins was attempting to figure out the practicality of uprooting her life (and Jimmy's life) to Tulsa. They'd have her committed for sure.

But before she knew it, she was thinking of houses in her price range. It wasn't all because she'd had a good sparring match with this guy who did the dishes without even being asked. Before Lynnie knew it, she was thinking about Darry all the time.

Like Dally, Darry was too proud to talk about his feelings in public or even mention them to himself. But he knew, too, in that moment, that he was going to think about Lynnie all the time, too. With that toothy grin and pale pink sundress, it would be difficult to ever focus on much (if anything) else again. He thought he might be disappointed, but he wasn't. He couldn't explain it. All he knew was that he needed to see Lynnie again after this child's birthday party, and he was quite sure that he would.

* * *

Where Johnny had taken his smoke in the front yard, Ponyboy took his in the back. It had only been a few weeks since Johnny and Sadie officially tied the knot at city hall, but that wasn't enough time for Pony to cool off and feel more comfortable with the fact that his best friend had married his only sister. In other, more selfish words, his best friend and his sister decided to leave him at exactly the same time so that they could spend more time with each other. Though he didn't admit to it in public, it hurt Ponyboy like nobody's business to feel like he didn't matter as much to the folks he loved as much as they mattered to him. And with Soda gone, he felt more alone than ever. It didn't matter that he and Darry got along better now than they ever had before – even better than before their folks died – he knew he couldn't talk to him about missing Soda. Darry would find some way to make Pony's emotions _practical_. He'd surely say something like, "How can we turn that energy into you preparing for college in the fall?" Pony didn't need that kind of motivation in his life. Now that he was growing up, he could motivate himself just fine.

There was no way in hell that Ponyboy could even attempt to talk to Sadie about missing Soda. She'd tear him a new one, just like she had when Pony wondered how Soda's going off to Vietnam would affect him. He wasn't stupid. Sadie might have thought he was an idiot compared to her, but he still wasn't stupid. He knew that Soda's being gone was going to kill his twin more than it could ever kill him; even though he adored Soda more than he'd ever adored anybody. Soda was part of Sadie's body outside of itself. It must have been horrible to know that part of your body was in the war without your signing up for it. He wasn't judging Sadie for being as upset about Soda as she was. It made sense. Either way, Ponyboy knew that he'd have to avoid the subject of Sodapop whenever he was around his sister for a little while. She was too bruised to think about him for more than one or two seconds at a time.

Pony needed to talk to someone who would let him, in his own way, be sad about Soda's absence. Normally, that was Johnny. But since the end of March, when Johnny married Sadie and became Ponyboy's brother _for real_, he'd been around a lot less. Well, he was still around. Maybe more often, even. But it was different. When he and Ponyboy talked on their own, it wasn't a time for Pony to vent his issues anymore. He knew that was selfish, but he resented the change nonetheless. Now, when they talked on their own, it was all about Johnny and Sadie, Sadie and Johnny. Johnny told him about his job on the rich guy's house. He told him about how he and Sadie had started talking about when they might want to have their first baby. That scared the hell out of Ponyboy. He was over being embarrassed about sex – kind of difficult to be embarrassed about something you'd done already (with Carrie Shepard around Valentine's Day, even though they weren't exactly a couple). The problem now was that Sadie and Johnny were _nineteen_. Dally and Lucy had been _nineteen_. Babies raising babies. It didn't seem right. It especially didn't seem right that Johnny was so distracted by his job, his wife, and his baby that he didn't even have yet, that he couldn't be there to listen to Pony be sad about Soda. Wasn't there anybody who'd listen to him?

As he asked that very question of himself, Jane came out into the backyard. Ponyboy was surprised to see her there. When he asked why she wasn't inside going gaga over Elenore like all the other girls, she shrugged.

"I was for a while," she said. "Then … well, then, I don't know, Pony. I had to get out of there. I started thinkin' about how Soda's her godfather, an' he's not here … it was too much."

Ponyboy nodded. He had been thinking about that, too. It didn't matter that Soda was nineteen. To Ponyboy, he felt like the only one of the guys who might make a good daddy. Well, Soda and Darry, anyway.

"You really miss him, don't ya?" Ponyboy asked. It was a stupid question, he thought, but only in hindsight.

Jane nodded. She didn't seem excessively sad like she might have been when she was younger. Pony remembered how dramatic Jane Randle used to be, and he would have chuckled at the memories if they didn't make him cringe.

"I keep waiting for him to write me," Jane said. "I feel like he's already forgotten me."

"He ain't been gone long at all," Ponyboy said. "He ain't got time to write you, probably."

"I know. I know that he's not just sitting there, telling me how much he misses me. And I know Soda. Even if he _is _a romantic, I can't expect long letters from him, telling me how much he loves me. He doesn't like to hold a pen for more than half a page."

"You're tellin' me."

"I can't believe I'm gonna go a whole year without hearing his voice. His voice … that's the best part of Soda."

"Every part is the best part of Soda." – In hindsight, a weird thing for a brother to say about his brother, but Ponyboy didn't really seem to care.

Jane snorted, a little amused and a little sad. It was the way she'd feel about most things for the next twelve months, roughly.

"If you ever need to talk about Soda being gone," Jane said, her voice delicate and soft, not unlike her boyfriend's, "I'm here for you, Pony. Always will be."

Ponyboy nodded. He'd never been good friends with Jane Randle before, on account of his senseless rivalry and competition with her brother, Steve. But in Soda's absence, Jane seemed to be the only person who could ever understand. That wasn't something Ponyboy would take lightly. She smiled at him, and both of them knew. They didn't have to go at this alone after all.

* * *

_April 24, 1968_

_Dear Ponyboy,_

_ You wouldnt believe it but this guy I just met today knows another poem by that Frost guy you like. You know the poem about nothing gold? I guess he wrote a lot more. Something about fire and ice. Do you know that one? I kinda liked it._

* * *

As Lucy and Dally put Elenore to bed that night and climbed quietly into their own bed, they were both thinking about how badly they wanted to tell the other _I love you_. Though Lucy had said it before, she only said it when Dally most needed to hear it. She had no idea that this was one of those times, but in her defense, Dally wasn't making it as obvious as he usually did. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, and she was endlessly impressed with how well he looked after Elenore. She wanted to tell him that he was proof that the human spirit was more resilient than people liked to give it credit. But she knew he'd scoff, and if he scoffed, he was one day closer to leaving. If he ever left, she thought she might die. Maybe it was a betrayal of her feminist ways. Either way, she didn't care. To have Dally in her life was more important than anything. It was too late to go back and change it now.

Dally was trying to make himself say the words, but he couldn't. It was cliché and stupid, which he knew. Bad boys weren't supposed to be able to tell their girls that they loved them even if it was true. If there was anything Dally hated more than being weak, it was being cliché and stupid. Unfortunately, telling Lucy, Elenore, or both of them that he loved them (even though he knew he did) was at the intersection of the two things he hated most in the world. He'd be at a standoff with himself for as long as he lived, which, apparently, was going to be a very long time … otherwise, he probably would have died before he could ever even kiss Lucy Bennet. It was a crying shame. Lucy Bennet deserved to hear that her husband loved her everyday of her fucking life. Maybe one day, she'd get wise to the fact and leave his ass. Take the kid (Elenore) with her. It was what Dally deserved. He didn't deserve the happy wife and the happy baby. Soda did. Soda deserved that, and it landed him in the middle of a war he didn't want to fight.

Before either of them could fall asleep, Lucy whispered, "Thanks for all your help with the birthday party tonight. I think if Elenore was old enough, she'd really appreciate it."

Dally snorted with amusement. It was such an odd thing he'd done, given his name.

"Sure thing, Bennet," he said.

That wasn't enough. Dally knew it. She was looking for more. She expected more. She was Lucy Bennet – smartest, toughest woman he'd ever met and daughter of a _Jane Austen scholar_. If anyone in the world was expecting romance …

What he wouldn't figure out for quite some time (but _in time_, of course – you're never too late for your soul mate, and Lucy Bennet was precisely that for Dallas Winston) was that he was the only thing she was looking for. His mere existence was romantic enough.

* * *

**Oh, look, it's an unnaturally long chapter. What a great throwback to the 'Impatience and Impulsivity' days. I would have had this up earlier, but a lot of crazy things happened recently: I graduated with my master's degree, for one thing! Ph.D. in the fall – yikes.**

**Note on Soda in Vietnam: I'm not sure if I'll keep his interactions purely epistolary. I did in this chapter for no reason other than personal preference and experimentation. We'll see how the story pans out!**

**Hinton owns **_**The Outsiders**_**. I quote **_**Antigone **_**in here, which is one of Sophocles' three Theban Plays (along with **_**Oedipus at Colonus **_**and **_**Oedipus Rex**_**). They are literally ancient texts, so they are definitely in the public domain. For those of you who don't read a lot of Ancient Greek drama … read it! It's the foundation for everything we have. But that's all. Thanks!**


	4. Chapter 4

Steve came back first. It was the middle of May, and Jane was acting much happier than seemed appropriate for Jane. Of course, she loved her brother dearly, but they'd never had the kind of inexorable closeness that Sadie and Soda had. Where Sadie and Soda were essentially the same person, reading each other's thoughts without a single change of expression and feeling everything the other felt in spades, Jane and Steve spent much of their time apart. They comforted each other when they needed to, and they knew how to share a few laughs. Yet, their sibling relationship was, in their young adulthood, largely transactional. Jane and Steve Randle were nothing like Sadie Cade and Sodapop Curtis. But in the days leading up to and immediately after Steve's return from Vietnam, Jane pretended like they were. She pretended like they always had been.

"I swiped a 45 of 'Does Your Chewing Gum Lose Its Flavor' and a six-pack," Jane said as she put on her baby pink lipstick one early evening on the ground floor of Great Books. "We used to listen to that record all the time when Mom and Dad were fighting. He was so upset when Dad threw it against the wall after Mom told him to shut up. Steve never said it made him upset, but he's my brother. I know him well enough to know when he's upset."

"I know that song," Lucy said. "Elenore hates it."

"That's not possible," Jane said. "That song's hilarious."

She wandered over to Elenore, who was happily sitting on Sadie's lap while Sadie read to her from a thin paperback of some sort. When Elenore saw Aunt Jane heading toward her, she looked up, confused as could be. Elenore liked Jane well enough (mostly because Uncle Soda seemed to like her a lot), but they didn't have a particularly close one-on-one relationship. It was always unfamiliar for Elenore any time Jane wanted to talk to her, no matter how many times they met.

"'Does your chewing gum lose its flavor on the bedpost over night?'" Jane sang the silly song to the baby who, by nature of her being a baby, should have liked it. "'If your mother says don't chew it, do you swallow it in spite?'"

Elenore began to cry like no other, and Jane finally backed off, not sure why a silly song that was meant for little kids would upset Elenore, a literal infant. Sadie bounced Elenore up and down on her knee, muttering that it would all be OK soon.

"Jane didn't know that song upsets you," Sadie said. "She wasn't around that time you heard it on the radio."

"What happened?" Jane asked.

"Oh, it was the weirdest thing," Lucy said. "We had the radio on this one night that Elenore wasn't feeling too well, and that song came on. As soon as it did, she started throwing up. She threw up on and off throughout the hour. She remembers every song that played while she was sick. Believe me – she has the same reaction to 'Ode to Billie Joe.'"

Jane wanted to roll her eyes, but she didn't. She had enough decorum to know that it wasn't usually an acceptable thing to roll one's eyes at a baby, especially not when that baby belonged to one of her closest friends.

"I'll read to her some more," Sadie said and turned back to the skinny book in her grasp. "'When Lil's husband got demobbed, I said - / I didn't mince my words, I said to her myself, / HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME.'"

When she heard those words come out of Sadie's mouth, Jane snatched the paperback out of her hands and examined the title of the book.

"These are T.S. Eliot poems!" Jane almost shrieked. "I pretended to read these last year in English class! Mr. Syme made a really big deal about that 'It's time' line."

"I'm impressed he taught 'The Waste Land' in senior English," Lucy said. "When I was a senior, he said it felt too scandalous to teach any Eliot, even just 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.'"

"I know. He said it was on your recommendation, specifically."

"That makes sense. I'll buy that."

"My point is that if Mr. Syme thought T.S. Eliot was too scandalous for a group of seniors in high school, what makes Sadie think it's OK to read it to a one-year-old baby?"

Sadie shrugged. Elenore, who had stopped crying as soon as she heard Sadie's voice read to her again, gurgled her approval.

"She's extremely smart," Sadie said. "She's advanced. She can handle lots of things that most high-school seniors can't, especially important, sophisticated literature."

"Dallas Winston's daughter, understanding sophisticated literature," Jane said. "Who would ever have thought?"

"Which part?" Lucy asked. "The fact that she's going to grow up and be smarter than all of us, or the fact that Dallas Winston has a daughter?"

"All of it."

Lucy snorted, pretending to be amused when she was really anything _but_. Of course, she was always tired of people, including her own best friends, making jokes about how it was unbelievable that Dally would stick around and be somebody's father. She couldn't believe how poorly these people actually knew Dally, and he'd been in their lives for much longer than Lucy had been. If they knew Dally at all, they'd know that he wasn't averse to companionship because he didn't know how to be a companion. He _did_ know how. It came as naturally to him as breathing and blinking. Maybe a few years ago, she would have felt desperate to prove it. Maybe she would have shown Jane the notepad she kept with all the little things Dally did or said that proved to Lucy that he loved her, like when he immediately got out of bed to check on a crying Elenore after Lucy had spent the entire night catching up on _Middlemarch_. There was a reason her father had only assigned one book in his Victorian novel course that semester – _Middlemarch _was almost a thousand pages in length, and those pages were dense. On that note, Lucy had also jotted down a few lines about her conversation with Dally that morning about the book. He'd been listening to her mutter her notes under her breath the night before, and he said he wondered why the hell a character who sounded as tuff as Dorothea would marry someone who wasn't good enough for her. At the time, Lucy wasn't as focused as she should have been, and she didn't quite understand what Dally was really asking. She was horrified when she came to the discovery in the morning. Their third anniversary was rapidly approaching. They had a daughter. How could he still be so unsure?

How could _she _still be so unsure?

"I wonder if Steve will marry Evie now that he's back," Jane mused. "I haven't talked to her in months, but I always thought they were a good match. She understands him. I mean, not like a sister understands a brother, but close."

Sadie looked at Lucy as if to ask her to do something. Lucy raised her shoulders to her ears, knowing she was helpless to the cause, as much as she understood what was bothering Sadie. Since Steve was shipped out to Vietnam a year earlier, Jane had been intermittently sad, but she was always optimistic that he'd make it home safe (physically, at least). In that year, she'd been quite preoccupied with other things – with Soda, with graduating from high school and making more money, and with her enduring hatred for Violet Winston and internalizing the struggle not to beat the piss out of her every time they had to sit in the same room (Lucy had asked about their bad blood about a hundred times, though neither woman would divulge a reason.). Occasionally, she'd shed a tear or two for her brother, waging a war he was too young and too otherwise uninvolved to wage, but those tears were rare. That wasn't the relationship that the Randle kids had. It wasn't to say that they didn't love each other – they did, in their way, just like Dally and Violet loved each other in their way. But it was out of character for Jane to waltz around the floor of Great Books, romantically hoping that when Steve returned the next day, he would be fine and safe and they could slip back into their old rhythms. Maybe they could have … if they had had any old rhythms to begin with.

Lucy looked at Sadie as if to assure her that it was all misplaced. Jane was missing Soda something terrible (though it had nothing on how much Sadie was missing him, if they wanted to make it a contest, which Lucy wished they wouldn't), but she knew Sadie would rag on her if she admitted to it. So, she dressed up all the anxiety and all the missing she had inside of her – missing Soda, missing her brother, missing Two-Bit, missing the strange comfort of spending most of the day inside that high school, wishing she'd failed her last English class after all so maybe she would have had the chance to stay behind, after all – and she projected it all onto Steve. It was just easier that way. Surely Sadie understood.

Sadie _did _understand. Like Soda, she understood everyone. There were just some moments, many of which would occur in that terrible year of 1968, when she wished she were closed off. There were some moments when she wished she didn't understand anyone or anything.

"Are you OK, Jane?" Lucy finally asked.

"Of course I'm OK," Jane answered. "My brother's coming back tomorrow. I haven't seen him in over a year. Of course I'm OK, Lucy. Why wouldn't I be?"

Lucy's heart clenched. For as much as she'd always known they adored each other, it was the first time Lucy had ever heard Jane sound so much like Sodapop.

"It's nothing," Lucy said. She wanted to drop the subject like it was a hot poker, but Sadie (ever bitter that in the same weeks she lost her brother, Jane was getting hers back) pressed on.

"You ain't been sad about Steve since he got shipped out," Sadie said. Her tongue was sharp, and Lucy remembered that Pony had learned his own causticness from her. "You only got sad after …"

But for as bitter and angry as she was, Sadie couldn't finish that sentence. She saw the look on Jane's face, and it was too much. They couldn't be honest about it yet (or ever, at all, maybe). Perhaps it was for the best, and if not for the best, then it was at least for the better. It had been over a month, and Soda hadn't written to either of them yet.

"I'm sure Steve will be happy to see you, too," Sadie said. Her voice was thick with … something. Maybe a few things.

Jane smiled, and though it was a bright smile, it was still empty. She knew exactly what she was doing. She didn't need Sadie to explain her own feelings and her own deflections to her. Jane's marks in school might not have been as stellar as Sadie's, but she wasn't stupid. She really wished her friends would stop thinking of her that way … like she couldn't handle certain things.

"Yeah," Jane said. "I know he will be. He's my brother."

Elenore began to kick her legs up and call out for her mother, so Lucy swooped in and grabbed her baby from Sadie's lap. As she did, she pretended not to notice the held gaze between her two closest friends in the world. It was strange, and she hated herself for the part that seemed so strange. Before – at least since she'd begun to fall in love with Dally during her final year of high school – she almost felt like all of the gang's stories really included her. This one didn't. After years of feeling like she might be important to the people in her life (perhaps even irreplaceable for them), she felt lost and out of place. More than that, she felt angry that she felt lost and out of place. Before Sadie could look over at Lucy and ask her what was the matter, she had already taken Elenore upstairs to the family's apartment, trying to get her to take a nap and trying to make herself forget that nothing, in their little corner of the universe, would ever make the same amount of sense again.

* * *

_May 15, 1968_

_Dear Darry,_

_ Thanks for writing to me about Elenore's birthday party. I'm awful sorry I missed it. I hope one day when she's a little older that she understands where I had to be. Cant belive you met and got yourself a thing for Lucy's own cousin. Dont she live far away or something? I know the name of the state but I can't spell it at all and I don't want to make a fool of myself trying to. I already make a fool of myself enough over here. I know you dont believe me or nothing but I never got drunk before. I drank but I never got drunk like Two-Bit or Dally. Not when Mom and Dad were alive and not when you started looking after us neither. Well I got drunk the other night with some guys and I guess I dont even get drunk the right way cause they were makin fun of the way I talk with a few extra glasses in me. Aparently I sound like a real pretty girl. I dont know what that really means but when you think of where we are I dont think it was meant to be a real nice thing they said. Im doing OK though. I aint beat up. Fell down a couple of times but Im still breathin._

_ Speaking of real pretty girls, how's Jane? I must have sat down about 100 times tryin to write her a letter but nothing comes out right. Not for Jane anyway. Darry I dont know if you know this but I think I was always supost to be with Jane. I been thinking about her almost every second I been here and its just not right not having her here with me. Im real sorry about what you said a few years back about girls. You remember, around when Mom and Dad died and when Sandy left for Florda? You said you didnt think you would ever have time to love a girl again like you did when you was in high school beacause youd be too bussy lookin after us. I think I knew what you meant back then but what about now? Were all grown up. Sadie's gone and got married, Pony's on his way to college, and Im … well, Im here, aint I? What're you waitin for? Maybe youll find Lucy's cousin again. She sounds pretty. Tell me more about her. And tell me how Jane seems. I miss her somethin awful._

_ Do me a favor and dont tell Sadie I wrote you this letter OK? I aint figured out what to say to her yet neither and I dont want her to get upset if she knows I already been writing to you and Pony. I miss her too. I miss all of you. It aint the same wakin up in a place you dont know, no matter how long you been sleeping there. It never feels right. Miss you. Love you. – Sodapop Curtis_

* * *

Before he left for Vietnam, Steve Randle was a bitter and angry young man. It was no surprise that when he returned from Vietnam, he was even bitterer angrier. When they welcomed him back to the gang at the Curtis house on his first evening back in town, he looked around the living room, less familiar than it ever was, exhaled in disapproval, and muttered, "Ain't the same." Those were the only three words he spoke for several hours thereafter. No one had to ask him what he meant. They all knew that he was hoping, somehow, when they threw open that door; Soda would be sitting there on the couch, waiting for him. When he wasn't … when he _couldn't be_ … Steve saw no point in engaging with any of the other guys or girls, including his own sister.

"This is bad," Jane muttered as she stood in the kitchen with Lucy and Sadie. "He ain't said nothin' since we got here."

"Yeah, he did," Sadie said. "He said, 'Ain't the same.'"

"Don't be smart. You _know _what I mean."

Sadie sighed. It was still hard for her not to resent Jane for getting her brother back when there was no way in hell she wanted him back as much as Sadie wished for Soda. But on Lucy's request, she would try to be gracious.

"I'm sure it's OK," Lucy said, though it was an outright lie, and everyone knew it. You weren't just OK after coming back from a year at war. "Steve was never the most gregarious person to begin with."

Jane snorted. She wasn't quite sure what the word _gregarious _meant, but she'd heard Lucy use it to describe Soda before. It was why he and Steve made such great friends, Lucy thought. They could really use Soda to bring a little more of Steve's real personality out that night. Suddenly, Jane's breath hitched, thinking of the day that Soda would return from the war (alive, of course). Would he lose what made him _gregarious_, as Lucy might say? What would he be like? And why hadn't he written to her? Had he gone and fallen in love with someone he met over there? Had he realized that he was a fool for hooking up with the little puppy dog of a girl who followed him around all their lives? Surely that was it.

Her worries turned into guilt when she remembered that unlike Soda, her own brother was _actually there_, and she wasn't paying enough attention to him as she should have been. Why wasn't she paying enough attention to Steve? It wasn't that she didn't care about making him feel welcome or trying to figure out the best way to talk to him. Did she ask him questions about Vietnam, or did she pretend like he had never been away? What did she and Steve talk about before he'd been shipped out? They hadn't talked much in recent years. Steve was busy with the DX and with Evie; Jane was busy with her girl friends and with Soda. Why hadn't they talked more when they were teenagers? She clenched her jaw. This would have been much simpler had they not spent their high-school years in a casual sibling relationship. What had they been thinking, sometimes going full days without having a real conversation? The country had been waging war with Vietnam for years, and they were perfectly aware of it. They were not, however, perfectly aware that the possibility of Steve (of any of the boys) would actually be sent over there. They took advantage of what they thought was immortality, and now they – and now _Jane _– was paying for it with awkward silences and wishes to turn back the clock and be a better sister.

"It'll be fine," Lucy said. She didn't know what else there was to say … and then the unthinkable (or at least what would have, three years earlier, been the unthinkable) happened.

Dally came into the kitchen with Elenore (his daughter whom he adored and stuck around to care for) riding on his hip. He wore a look of concern and confusion, which made the women in the room panic just a little. Even as the years wore on, and Dally learned how to soften, it was still alarming to see Dally so openly express something that wasn't bitterness.

"This is bad," he said.

"See!" Jane said, pointing at Dally. "If _he _says it's bad, then it must be awful!"

"We don't even know if he's talking about Steve," Lucy said. "Are you talking about Steve?"

"Of course I'm talkin' about Steve," Dally said. "Kid's just in there staring at the wall. He's not saying anything. He's barely breathin'. I don't even think he's blinked."

Lucy wondered if he was trying to keep his eyes open for a reason. Then she wondered if that was some kind of cliché. After all, what would she know about coming home from the war apart from what she read in books and watched in movies? She felt useless and clueless, which would never sit well with her. Lucy always wanted to know the right thing to say or do. When it came to the war and to her friends, she was at a complete and utter loss. She hated feeling dumb, and she hated herself for making it all about her. Why couldn't she just learn to care about more people than just the ones who lived above Great Books with her? Why did she have to be so selfish?

She knew, of course, that she was hardly selfish at all. Her sympathy for Sadie and Soda and all her other friends was quite rich. It was simply easier to pretend like she didn't worry about anyone except for herself and Dally and Elenore. It hurt too much to love too many people.

"What are we supposed to do?" Sadie asked. "We can't just make him talk."

"I don't have any ideas," Jane said. "Dammit! Why don't I have any ideas? He's my brother!"

"I think he's too far gone, man," Dally said. "Elenore was in the room the whole time, an' he never even looked at her. He's never even met the kid."

"So?" Lucy asked. She didn't know why she was so keen to fight everybody on this issue, but there she was. "I'm sure that's just fine. Did Steve strike you as the kind of guy who was interested in kids before? I don't even think he registered the fact that I was pregnant before he left."

"Actually, Steve used to talk about wanting to be a dad when he grew up," Jane said. It was one thing she knew about her brother – or at least, she used to know it. She wasn't sure whether he had changed his mind when she thought on it. "He used to think he might have two sons. I think he'd have fun with two sons. Don't you?"

Sadie mustered the best sympathetic smile that she could, despite the fact that she knew it wasn't very good. It was so hard to pretend to be supportive when Jane was getting exactly what Sadie wished she could have. Jane didn't have to walk around knowing that an entire half of her body was missing, running around somewhere she'd never been (and never would be). She wished to God that she had been born a boy that she and Soda would have been fighting together. Of course, they were fighting together, as they were by each other's side at all times. But not feeling his hand in hers to guide her through the things that scared her (things like being married and thinking about having a baby all her own) … that was horrible. Jane got to start over with Steve now that she knew he was home and alive. Sadie still had months upon months of waiting for Sodapop.

"Doesn't matter," Dally said. "Even if ya hate kids, if there's one crawlin' around on the floor makin' noises every couple a' seconds, ya usually look up. Don't ya?"

"He never even acknowledged Elenore?" Lucy asked.

"Not a word. It was fuckin' weird, man." Dally turned his head a bit and looked at the baby in his arms. He almost smiled at her when he said, "Don't know how anybody could look past you, kid. You're pretty cool."

They didn't have time to stop and ponder the irony of Dally showing love and affection for his own child. What mattered now was finding a way, if only for a second, to appeal to Steve. For Lucy, it wasn't really about making an appeal to Steve. She'd never particularly liked or disliked him; any warm bias she had in his favor was because he was Soda's best friend and Jane's older brother. But making Steve feel like this could be his home again (or something like his home again) was important to Jane, and if it mattered to Jane, then it had to matter to Lucy. She'd learned that lesson back in high school when Jane desperately wanted to date Sodapop without any of the rest of the guys finding out about it. It seemed more important to uphold it now.

Jane rested her hand on Lucy's shoulder, looking up at her with desperate eyes. That look was enough for Lucy to get Jane anything she asked for. She was one of her weaknesses.

"Do me a favor?" Jane asked. "Help me introduce Elenore to my brother?"

Lucy nodded. She grabbed the baby out of Dally's arms, and Jane followed them out of the kitchen and to the living room to meet up with Steve.

"Hey, Steve?" Lucy called.

But Steve wasn't in the living room. He wasn't where Dally had left him at all. Though Jane felt the air leave her lungs, Lucy reached out to her and grabbed her around the arm to steady her again.

"It's OK," Lucy said. "He's not gone."

"Then where is he?" Jane asked.

She paused for a moment. If she hadn't been so stressed (so _distressed_), she probably would have figured it out sooner. Lucy stepped aside and allowed Jane to lead the way to the back of the house … to Soda's room.

Sure enough, Steve sat on Soda's bed, staring down at the ground, willing for Soda to come up from the floorboards (or at least that was what Lucy and Jane thought he might be trying to do). They stood there for a moment or two. Clearly, Steve hadn't even realized that they had entered the room. Jane opened her mouth to call out for him, but her voice wouldn't let her make a sound. Lucy noticed.

"Hey, Steve?" she asked. This time, her voice was softer than before.

A few seconds later, he looked up. There was confusion in his eyes, and though he and Lucy had never been particularly close, she wished immediately that there were something she could do to help him. Maybe meeting Elenore would help, though she had to admit, it was quite doubtful.

"What're you doin' in here?" he asked. He sounded too upset to be annoyed.

Bravely, Lucy stepped forward, carrying Elenore at her side. Elenore (God bless her) could sense that this wasn't the most pleasant environment she'd ever been in, so she tensed up at her mother's side. Lucy really owed her for this one. Maybe she'd finally give in and let her have her own (baby-sized) ice cream cone.

"I thought you might want to meet Elenore," Lucy said. "You know, mine and Dally's daughter?"

"I know who she is," Steve said. "You weren't just fat when I left."

Lucy rolled her eyes. Then, she looked at Steve, motioning for him to take her if he wanted to see her. A bit reluctantly, Steve took the baby from her mother's arms. Lucy was grateful that Elenore didn't start screaming. She really was a smart kid.

As Steve looked down at Elenore Winston in his grasp, he could feel Jane watching them with her jaw clenched tightly. He wished more than anything that she would just relax. Since they were little kids, Jane had always been so predisposed to fairytales and fantasies. She was almost delusional, he thought. Surely, she was delusional about what life would be like now that he was back from the war (and Soda wasn't). Why didn't she get it? It didn't matter how many milkshakes she offered to buy him, and it didn't matter how many babies she introduced him to. Nothing was going back to the way it was before he was made to leave. It didn't mean he didn't love her. It meant that he'd never be able to look at her or any of them the same way again, and that was something different.

He looked at Lucy.

"She looks like you," he said. He knew he sounded fairly disinterested, but he didn't really give a damn. It wasn't interesting. "Except for the frown. She frowns like Dally."

"That's what everybody says," Lucy said.

"Well, it ain't a lie."

Another long and awkward silence filled the room. Lucy exhaled deeply but quietly. As much as she knew it would kill Jane to admit it, especially in Soda's ever-growing absence, Dally was right before. This was bad. This was bad, and there was nothing any of them could do to fix it.

"Hey, kid," Steve said, not really looking at Elenore. He was looking past her and at the wall. "Soda talks about you all the time."

Jane looked like she might pass out. It was all she could do to hold her head up.

_Why did they have to be in _his _room?_

* * *

"I don't know," Sadie said.

"Yeah, you do," Johnny said. "You always got an opinion 'bout stuff like this."

They were sitting in the living room at the Curtis house while Jane tried to make a dent in Steve's sanity. For the third time that week, they were talking about what they would name their baby when they had one. They were on the same page about when they wanted to have their first baby – within their first year of marriage – but Sadie was always too afraid to admit what she really wanted to name it. It was obvious, she supposed, but that was what made it embarrassing.

"Well, I told you, I ain't got an opinion about this," Sadie said. "I never really thought about what I'd name my baby. I just figured I'd have one someday. I didn't think it'd be with you or that I'd be nineteen, so this is …"

She stopped. That wasn't exactly true, after all. A part of her always knew what made sense for her. When she was sixteen, she knew the score. By the time she was eighteen, she'd get herself engaged to a decent guy (probably Johnny Cade), and by the next year or so, she'd be a mother. That was her rightful place. That was what she, as the unfortunate Curtis sister, was destined to do. Of course, now, she didn't feel very unfortunate. She adored Johnny, and after spending the past year looking after Elenore with Lucy and Dally, she looked forward to the day when she could call herself a baby's mother, too. But when she was sixteen, the very life she was living felt like a punishment – like a curse. And even though it didn't feel that way anymore, Sadie was still consumed with guilt that she had ever felt that way in the first place. She was consumed with guilt every time she referred to herself as _Sadie Curtis _in her head instead of _Sadie Cade_. What was the matter with her?

"What if it was a girl?" Johnny asked.

"It ain't gonna be a girl," Sadie said. "Not the first one, anyway."

"What're you talkin' about? You don't just get to know that."

"I know it. I know it just like Jane knew that Elenore was gonna be a girl. We're havin' a boy."

"Alright, but what if we didn't? What if we had a girl? What names do ya like?"

Sadie had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. It seemed out of character that Johnny would sit there on her family's couch with her, pressing her about what she might want to name the baby they were (already) trying to have. It still surprised the hell out of her that he wanted to be a parent at all. It was something he and his kid sister Lilly had in common; despite the way they'd been raised (or hadn't been). They thought that this was their shot to prove them wrong. After they saw how much Dally loved Elenore, even if he never said it, they figured they could do it. Hell, they might even be excited to do it.

"What names do _you _like?" Sadie asked. She was almost playful, though being playful with her husband was still a challenge. She needed to erase the belief that she had that Johnny was somehow fragile. Just because he was small didn't mean he could be easily broken.

"I don't know," he said.

"See?"

"Well, when ya put me on the spot like that, I forget anybody's name. Even my own."

He paused.

"What about Lilly?"

"And give your sister the biggest head in the whole neighborhood? I don't think so."

"We wouldn't have to call her that. We could come up with a whole different nickname."

"Same principle."

"OK, OK. Well, what about Rose?"

Sadie shrugged.

"Eh. Rose is OK, but I feel like it's missing something."

"Missin' what?"

"We'll come back to it."

"OK. Frances?"

Sadie's breath hitched a bit. It was a name she thought of at least three times a day, even now. But for as often as she thought about it, it had been years (or at least it _felt _like it had been years) since she actually spoke it out loud.

"Frances?" she repeated. It sounded so foreign and so wobbly on her tongue.

"Yeah," Johnny said. "What's the matter? You don't like that one, neither?"

"No, it's not that. Do you … you remember that's my mom's name? _Was _my mom's name? I don't …"

Johnny's eyes went wide. He'd completely forgotten.

"Oh, no," he said. "I'm sorry, Sadie."

"Why're you apologizing?" Sadie asked. "It's just a name. I'm sure somewhere out there, she's glad you thought of her name for her possible granddaughter."

"I forgot her name's Frances," Johnny said, careful not to use the past tense when he talked about her. "I guess I just got so used to callin' her _Mrs. Curtis_."

"Well, that'll be Jane's name in no time, so you better get used to sayin' it again."

Johnny let out a polite laugh.

"I don't love it for a first name," Sadie said. "Besides, I told Soda that he could have it years ago. Even before."

Johnny nodded. "And you ain't one to back out of a promise. Hey, what if we had a boy?"

"You mean what will happen _when _we have a boy?"

"OK, sure. I ain't gonna argue with you. What are you gonna name him?"

"You have a say, too, ya know. You're his father."

"Ain't nobody's daddy yet. And you're gonna be his mama, and I think the mama gets a bigger say, considerin' she's gotta push him out an' all."

Sadie tried to smile, although she knew it came out more like a wince. She knew from talking to Lucy that having a baby was the worse pain she'd ever feel in all her life. As much as she was excited to be somebody's mother, she wasn't excited for that very first day. It was even worse, she thought, because she'd have to give birth without her mother's help. And worse than that, she'd probably have to give birth without _Soda's _help. She looked at Johnny's hopeful eyes and wished she could need him as much as she needed her twin. Somewhere inside of her, she knew it wasn't any use. There was another part of herself walking around out there, and no husband could compete with that, even if she did really, really love him.

"Well, OK," she finally gave in. "I don't like to talk about this very much, but I've always had an idea of what I was gonna name my son if I had one. And since I know I'm gonna have one …"

"Yeah?"

"I think I wanna name him Patrick. You know … since it ain't like I can just go around namin' him Soda."

Johnny smiled, and Sadie asked him what that look was for.

"When I said we could name a girl Lilly, you shot me down," he said. It was easier to be playful about that (though not much easier).

"That's the same first name!" Sadie said. "Patrick ain't his first name. It's his middle name. Lilly got a middle name?"

"Naw. I'm shocked our folks cared enough to give us first names besides _Boy _and _Girl_."

"So that settles it. Namin' our son Patrick would be way different than namin' our daughter Lilly. I think you knew that all along."

"You ain't wrong."

He took a deep breath. It was strange to think that he and Sadie might have their first kid without Soda being around to meet him on the day he was born (Sadie was right – their first kid probably was going to be a boy.). It was strange to think that when Soda got back from Vietnam, things were going to be especially different between him and Johnny. He hated himself for it (He hated himself for a lot of things, really.), but there was a very small part of him that was almost relieved. The first year of his marriage to Sadie, who couldn't be torn away from her twin brother for more than a few hours at a time before he was shipped out, would be spent between the two of them. He wouldn't need to make room for Soda in their house every night because he wasn't around. It could just be Johnny and Sadie, figuring out how to be husband and wife (how to be adults) without any other distractions. Johnny knew that was selfish. It was worse than selfish. There wasn't even a word for how terrible it was. He knew that Soda was suffering where he was. All he had to do was take a look at Steve to know the truth (and then multiply it by at least ten because Soda felt things differently than all of them). But there was something about having Sadie and just Sadie. It was good practice, or something.

"Patrick Cade," he said. He shouldn't have been surprised. Soda was, after all, the secret third partner in their marriage. Briefly, Johnny wondered if Soda would have been overly involved in Sadie's marriage to _anyone_, not just him. He hoped that was the case.

"Yeah," Sadie said. "Whadda you think?"

"Sounds like a tuff name," Johnny said. "Don't you figure?"

Sadie nodded. She would have said something more, but in that moment, Ponyboy walked through the front door. Unsurprisingly, he looked nothing short of pissed to see the two of them there on the couch. He'd been furious with Sadie on-and-off ever since the day she got married (and the night Soda got his draft card). She sat up a little and prepared to fight.

"Hey, Pony," she said. "Where ya been?"

"Don't play Darry," Ponyboy said. "It ain't your job."

"Maybe not, but I'm your sister. I care to know where ya been all night. Ain't I allowed?"

"I was talkin' to Carrie about some books she's been readin' at the library, then I walked her home. Is that too much for you?"

"Aww, c'mon, man …" Johnny tried to stick up for Sadie, but there was no need. Sadie could handle this one all on her own.

"No, it ain't too fuckin' much for me," Sadie said, and it caught Johnny off guard. Sadie hardly ever swore. It just wasn't how she spoke. "You know what _is _too fuckin' much for me, Ponyboy?"

Naturally, Ponyboy was silent. He glared at his sister like he'd never glared at her before. If he hadn't been cursed (blessed?) with empathy, Johnny would have been perplexed by the situation unfolding in front of him. Pony and Sadie hadn't done much talking since Soda received his draft card at the end of March, and when they did, it was icy, never explosive. This was a long time coming. Sadie had even mentioned more than a few times that she could feel herself on the verge of a blowup with the kid.

"It's like he's stuck being thirteen or fourteen years old all of a sudden," she said to Johnny one night before they went to bed. "Remember how he and Darry used to fight like cats and dogs?"

"Yeah, I remember," Johnny had said. "He used to say that you always took Darry's side, an' Soda always took his."

"That's how he always saw it, but that ain't what I was doin'. It ain't what Soda was doin', either. We never wanted to take either of their sides. We just wanted them to see things from each other's points of view, ya know? And we thought we could help them sort it out. I think it worked for a little while."

"It ain't workin' now?"

Sadie shook her head.

"Now that Soda's gone, Pony feels like he's all alone. He doesn't see it."

"See what?"

"That Soda's part of me. And if something's real important to him, then it's important to me, too. We love the same."

Johnny kept that in mind that night in the Curtis family living room as Sadie and Ponyboy stared each other down. It was almost scary to think they could be this angry with each other and with the state of their gang – the state of their family. He wished there was something he could do to intervene and help his wife, but then, he realized, it would have felt like a slight to his best friend. All of a sudden, he understood what Soda meant when he said it was hard for him and Sadie to play middlemen all the time … only this felt worse, since it was happening to him.

"Ponyboy, I don't know what to say to you anymore," Sadie said. "It seems like everything I try to say is wrong."

"You can't talk like that," Ponyboy snapped. "You ain't Mom. You're just the sister who don't fit in – the sister who goes and marries my best friend so I ain't got nobody to talk to!"

"Oh, please. You're still here with Darry everyday."

"You know I can't talk to Darry."

"Bullshit! And weren't you _just _hangin' around Carrie Shepard?"

"I can't talk to Carrie about Carrie! I can't talk to any of you! You ain't Soda!"

"Maybe not, but I'm as close as you're gonna get."

A long silence befell them. Johnny wanted to step out of the room, but he didn't. Out of instinct (which he would later regret), he put his hand in Sadie's hand and looked right at Ponyboy, begging him to put this meaningless row to an end.

Only Pony couldn't do that. Once he saw Johnny take Sadie's hand like that, it felt like he had chosen his side. His best friend had chosen a side in this fight, and it wasn't his. He had completely betrayed the rules of their friendship – their _fraternity _– and all for some broad that everybody at school used to call "Sodapop Curtis's ugly twin sister." His heart twitched a little when he thought of those last five words. He didn't mean it. How could he? It wasn't even a little bit true. He was just angry. Why was he so angry? Because Sadie was Soda's twin – himself outside of himself – and Ponyboy was just their annoying kid brother.

He couldn't let them see that he was feeling vulnerable, of course. Then they would have had some big cry, and he would have felt all stupid and weak. That wasn't who Pony was. He was tougher than that – tougher and a little bit meaner. He dug his heels into the floor, stared daggers at Sadie (his sister whom he loved, even when he couldn't stand her), and he said exactly what he'd been instructed not to say.

"Just last week, Soda told me he heard that song," he said. "You know, the one by The Velvet Underground – the one that played just before he left."

Sadie's face turned whiter than a ghost. She felt Johnny's grip get suddenly stronger, but it was no use. She was out of her body now. She wanted to stay mad at Ponyboy – to spit venom at him like he had spat at her – but she couldn't. It hurt too much. She let her guard down and breathed out the only question she could. They were the only words she had on her mind.

"You've heard from Soda?"

* * *

_May 17, 1968_

_Dear Lucy,_

_ Before I tell you anything else I want you to promise me you aint gonna tell Sadie that Im writing you this letter. Dont tell Jane either. I aint written to them beacause I dont know what to say. Everything feels wrong. It feels like whatever I try to write down will never be enough for them. You know what I mean? I know you do. Youre smarter then the rest of us. But you know that. Thats why youre the smartest one._

_ Im writing to you for a couple of reasons. One is so you can tell Elenore I love her and miss her and hope she had a wonderfull brithday. Theres this guy here, Mikey, and his mama is named Elenore. I dont think that's how she spells it though. I told him about how Dally messed up the spelling of your baby's name but I dont think its real funny less you know Dally. Which he dont. I miss you guys. Tell Dally hi for me. I aint sure what to write to him either._

_ But I also wanted to tell you that I started readin that book you got for me before I got here. The one with all the poems? That guy Mikey really likes poems so it's real easy to talk to him thanks to you and Pony and Sadie. You know what my favorite poem in the book is? That one … the poet as hero. I like it beacause it reminds me of Pony. You know, he's a real tough kid but he's sensitive too. Like a poet. Theres just one thing I dont know … whos Sir Galahad? Mikey says Im an awful lot like him and I figured if anybody knew it was Lucy Bennet._

* * *

Lucy put Soda's letter down on the desk in her apartment and smiled a little to herself. Yes, Soda was certainly like Sir Galahad … gallant and the most exemplary of all King Arthur's knights. Despite the fact that she grew up around a lot of Austen and a lot of Victorian novels, Lucy had to confess a soft spot for Arthurian legend. _Galahad _was her favorite of the Arthurian names. She was quite sure that if Dally had left when she told him she was pregnant, and if Elenore had been a boy, she would have named the baby Galahad. After reading Soda's letter, she shared this information with Dally. He laughed and said, "I'm real glad she's a girl, then. _Galahad _sounds like the sound ya make when ya sneeze."

Amused, she rolled her eyes and thought about knights a little more. When Lucy was fourteen or fifteen, and Ponyboy was eleven or twelve, they used to sit around at the Curtis house and decide which of their friends and family members could be which character in the Lancelot-Grail or the Post-Vulgate Cycle. It was something they were both interested in. Actually, before Ponyboy had become a little more withdrawn, he and Lucy spent an awful lot of time together, talking about books and movies. The more she thought about it, the more she missed having him around as her little friend. Of course, maybe the fact that she still saw him as her little friend, despite the fact that he was about to graduate high school, was the problem.

But when she and Pony were quite a bit younger, they used to sit at the Curtis house and talk about knights and ladies like there was no proverbial tomorrow. Soda was always Galahad because Ponyboy had recently learned the word _gallant _and wouldn't shut up about how much he thought it applied to Soda, even when Johnny tried to get him to see that it could apply to Dally, too. Both Lucy and Pony had dismissed it back then. The longer Lucy stayed married to Dally and got to know him for who he was and who he wanted to be (not who he thought he needed to be), the more she realized that maybe he was gallant, but he was no Galahad. No, she had gone and married herself a Lancelot. There were moments, sometimes days, when Dally could be as chivalrous as ever. He would pick up around the apartment without being asked and rock Elenore to sleep like it wasn't even hard. He was charming and flirtatious and made Lucy feel like the most beautiful and special woman in the world, even now that they had been married for almost three years. Yes, there were those times that Dallas Winston was a great white knight … and then he'd realize that he was leaving the past behind. It was then, of course, that he was ready to bring Camelot down. But he never would – not exactly. He'd make a few dents, but there was never any real damage. Lucy Bennet had gone and married a Lancelot. It was only a matter of time before he hit the city with a little more force. Wasn't it?

Dally came in later than usual that night. There was a rodeo, and he'd stuck around to help Buck with a little more than he typically did. A year earlier, there would have been a voice in the back of Lucy's head; making her wonder if Dally was telling the truth about why he was a little later than normal. But this was a different time, and in this different time, Dally never took off the wedding ring that Lucy had given him on their second anniversary. It seemed impossible, but she trusted Dallas Winston completely. After all, she loved him. Him – the delinquent who stared her down at the Dingo when they were seventeen. In hindsight, it wasn't very difficult to believe. He was still the same boy who hadn't poured a Coke all over her head on her sixteenth birthday even when he said he would.

"Sorry 'm late," he said.

"It's OK," Lucy said. "I'm a bit of a pro at getting Elenore to sleep by myself these days."

"Aww, man, she went to bed already?"

"She's a baby. She can't stay awake much past seven."

"Still wanted to tell her goodnight."

"You'll see her in the morning."

It was the first time since Elenore's birth that Lucy had said anything like that with as much confidence. Perhaps she should have been worried about the irony, but she wasn't. She leapt up from her seat at the desk, wrapped her arms around Dally's neck, and kissed him quickly to welcome him back home.

"I got my semester grades in the mail today," Lucy said.

"Yeah? You keepin' up them straight _A_'s?"

"I got an _A _minus in my art history class. I totally forgot the name of _The Absinthe Drinker _when I had to identify it on the final exam. I slipped up and called it, 'Sad French Guy in a Booth.'"

"Well, considerin' I don't know what any of those words mean, I'd say you still did a pretty good job."

"Hmm. All this, and an infant, too."

"I don't know how you do it, Bennet."

"Well, I pretty much always have help. Mostly in the form of this tall, good-looking guy. Maybe you know him."

"He ain't that good-looking if you ask him."

"He's just being modest."

"He's never been modest a day in his life."

"Until today, that is."

Dally rolled his eyes and kissed Lucy this time. For the most part, he felt very comfortable in his routine with her – the jovial teasing, rocking Elenore to sleep and getting her dressed and fed in the morning, and sleeping in the same bed all night without ever feeling the urge to leave her a note on the nightstand and just bolt. But there was still a part of him that didn't think he deserved to be there with Lucy Bennet, joking around with her like he was worthy of that kind of relationship with anyone, much less a woman – a wife. He let go of her and took his spot on the bed, and she followed.

"You really goin' into your third year at TU?" Dally asked, kicking off his boots.

Lucy nodded.

"That's what they tell me. My counselor still tells me I'm on track to graduate in '70 if I can swing thirty credits this year."

"Sounds like a lot."

"Not really. It's just one more class. Few more hours of you and my dad looking after Elenore while I'm in school. Nothing you can't handle, right?"

Dally nodded. It was easier not to argue with Lucy. Besides, he was too exhausted to say much about it.

"Hey, Bennet?"

"Yeah?"

He paused. He wasn't quite sure how to ask it, but he'd been thinking it on the whole way back from Buck's. While he was there, he'd run into a guy who was home from Oklahoma State. He was getting his degree in political science (whatever that meant), and he was a member of something called "Students for a Democratic Society." When Dally asked him what the hell that meant (since Dally was the kind of guy who asked real questions about people's lives and interests now that he had a daughter), the kid told him it was a chapter of students at his school who were against all the bad shit out there – the war, the money, the racism, all of it. It sounded like the stuff Lucy was real pissed about, too. He wondered if there was something like that for her to join and spend time doing. He wondered if she skipped out on it just for him. If that was the case, then he felt … well, he felt rather like he did when Soda got shipped out (even though he didn't deserve it) and Dally got to stay home (even though _he _didn't deserve _that_).

"You ever wanna do somethin' besides school?" he asked.

"I do plenty of things besides school," Lucy said. "I work in the store downstairs. I hang out with Sadie and Jane and everybody. I'm married to you. I take good care of Elenore. Don't you think that's plenty?"

"You know what I mean."

"I'm afraid I don't."

"Like … I don't know, you're in college. Ain't college students supposed to join clubs and shit? Try to change the world?"

Lucy snorted. She never thought she'd hear Dallas Winston ask a question like that, no matter how drastically he was changing with everyday.

"I'll find a way to change the world," she said. "Or something."

Dally nodded. He couldn't live with himself if he turned out to be the reason why Lucy Bennet didn't turn out to be the most Lucy Bennet she could be. He wasn't about to tell her that. He just hoped she got the message.

Lucy got into bed next to Dally, turned off their bedside lamp, and wrapped her arm around his waist. She almost smiled because he no longer bristled when she showed him affection like that. She felt him sigh underneath her, which surprised her. Typically, Dally only expressed his own weakness if he was drunk, and that night, he was completely sober.

"You think I'd be good at anything, Bennet?" he asked.

"You're good at plenty of things," Lucy said. "You're good at riding. You're good at knowing when to get into fights. You're good at knowing when to get out of them."

"You think I'd be good at any real stuff?"

Lucy sharply inhaled. She had to admit she never saw this coming. She figured Dally was happy being a jockey. She knew he hated bagging groceries and wearing that vest to work almost everyday, but she didn't think … she knew he was smart, but she didn't think he'd ever really figure it out for himself. Maybe that was cruel of her. She knew it was.

"Well, what do you have in mind?" Lucy asked.

"I don't know," he said. "Maybe nothin'. I just wanted to see what you thought."

"About you being good at stuff?"

"Yeah. Like how … I don't fuckin' know, good at stuff like you're good at stuff."

She thought of all the books she'd seen him read and all the questions she'd heard him ask. Of course he'd be good at stuff like she was good at stuff. But if she told him that, would he roll his eyes and call her cheesy? Would he think she was full of shit?

She decided it wasn't worth the risk to go the whole hog (yet). Instead, Lucy tightened her grip around Dally's waist and kissed his ear. He winced a little, surprised by her touch, but it was welcome nonetheless. Lucy was always welcome. Besides Elenore, she was the only person who was.

"You're plenty good at stuff," Lucy said. "I can think of a few extra important things you're good at, and lo and behold, you can do them all right here and right now if you want."

He sat up with a familiar glint in his eye.

"You want a demonstration?"

"Please."

She'd gone and married a Lancelot, all right. And so far, she couldn't hear the walls of Camelot come crashing down around her. The peacefulness was suspicious. It had to be. Nothing ever worked out this well when Dallas Winston was involved.

Did it?

* * *

**Wow, remember when I used to update quickly? It's funny, too, considering I was in the midst of two seminars and teaching when I wrote the majority of my work here, and now, it's summer. But I'm preparing to move to a brand new state (that I've never been to), I just got into a new relationship, and I have to work several jobs over the summer because they don't pay you a lot to be a scholar. So there's that.**

**Also, what happened in this chapter? If you said, "A whole lot of **_**nothing**_**!" you would be correct! I'm still setting up a lot of things, but I promise things are bound to get more interesting and less introspective. Keep in mind, though, that this **_**is **_**the most introspective fic in the series.**

**Hinton owns **_**The Outsiders**_**. I quote "The Waste Land" by T.S. Eliot in here, which is NOT yet in the public domain, so I can't claim that, either.**


	5. Chapter 5

Two things happened in June 1968: Ponyboy Curtis finally went head-to-head with his sister, Sadie, and Lucy Bennet's cousin, Lynnie Jones, moved to Tulsa.

"It's very convenient, don't you think?" Lucy asked as she helped Lynnie and her son, Jimmy, move into their new house, just a few blocks away from where Sadie and her brothers grew up (and where most of them still lived).

"What is?" Lynnie asked.

"There are plenty of teaching jobs across the whole United States," Lucy said. "Plenty of jobs out there for smart women who want to teach the fourth grade."

"There aren't as many jobs out on the East Coast," Lynnie said. "You know that as well as I do."

"Sure, sure. But what are the odds that the _perfect _job, teaching the grade you would most like to teach, opens up in Tulsa, Oklahoma, where your favorite cousin lives with her husband and daughter?"

"They do seem slim. But that's how life works sometimes, isn't it, Lucy?"

"Sure. But what are the odds that you found a house just a few blocks away from my handsome friend who roofs houses? The one you haven't been able to stop talking about since Elenore's birthday party at the end of April? Hmm?"

Lynnie turned scarlet. It didn't matter how old she got. Whenever she had a crush, she still blushed like nobody's business. Besides, she could never really hide anything from Lucy. They were family, and they knew each other much too well.

"If you're implying I did some sort of voodoo to make this work in my favor, then you're out of your mind, kid," Lynnie said, hoping that some of the blush had begun to drain from her cheeks. "Sometimes, life just works out the way you want it to. And if it works out the way you want it to, then what you wanted must also be what you needed. Do you know what I'm saying?"

Lucy snorted, amused.

"I barely know what you're saying, Lynnie," she said. "In my defense, you're quite hard to keep up with."

"That's what they said about me at Smith, too."

Lucy felt her heart drop when Lynnie mentioned Smith College. That was part of why it was so hard to be around her in recent years. Lucy knew that no matter how well she performed in school, she'd never be able to get the kind of education that Lynnie had. It stung even more when Lucy was rejected at Bryn Mawr, too. Of course, it wasn't Lynnie's fault she had been able to go to school there. She was on the Jones side of the family, and the Jones side of the family wasn't eager to cut any of their kin off from their wealth … except for Lucy's mother because she had the audacity to marry Jack Bennet, the Bennet family's rebellious son. Either way, Lynnie was always going to have rights and privileges that Lucy would never have, and when she was younger (specifically, before she became a mother), there was a too-large part of Lucy that resented it. If she'd grown up with the right bank account … if she'd known the right people when she was a kid … maybe she could have gotten the impressive liberal arts education, too. Instead, she was stuck in Tulsa, married to a guy whose file down at the station was thicker than the entire Russian literature section at Great Books, raising their baby and turning in essays to her professors with baby puke in the corner of the pages.

Just as quickly as she had thought it, Lucy found herself gasping in regret. She didn't wish for a different life – not really, anyway. There were those times – and admittedly, they were becoming increasingly frequent, what with Lynnie's invasion – she wished she could have had it all. She wished that she _had _been accepted at Bryn Mawr, that she could have afforded the tuition, that Dally would have moved with her and found something to like about the place, and that they could have had Elenore, anyway. Still, that was impossible. That wasn't the life she was supposed to live, and she'd waste away wishing to change the past. She wasn't _stuck _in Tulsa. It was where she was meant to be. But with Lynnie around, hanging up her Smith diploma in a frame on the wall, it was getting more and more challenging to remember that.

"I didn't plan any of this on purpose," Lynnie said. "It just happened to work out exactly the way I wanted it to and hoped it would the second I met your friend Darry at Elenore's birthday party."

"I _knew _it!" Lucy said.

"You knew nothing."

"I know plenty."

"And because I am three years your senior, I will always know more."

_And because you went to Smith_, Lucy thought, but she dared not say it aloud.

"So," Lucy said, trying to make light of a situation that felt very heavy. "What can we do? Dally's got the day off from the store, and he was gonna take Elenore to the park."

"Hmm … and the park's not far from where your friends live?"

Lucy smiled at Lynnie in exactly the way she used to when the Bennets would visit the Joneses during the summer, and the girls would hang out down at the drugstore, trying to catch the eye of whoever Lynnie's most recent crush was. It was comforting, which Lucy needed, given all the changes that were going on. According to Jane, Steve still barely to anyone, including Evie. That made Lucy feel a little sick to her stomach. She cared about Steve on principle, of course. The real problem for her was that Two-Bit was due back home the next month, and she didn't know if she could bear to see him be different. She didn't even want to think about next spring, but every time she looked at Steve, all she could see was Soda.

"I wouldn't suggest the park if I didn't have an agenda for you," Lucy said. "Let's go get Jimmy and walk over to Great Books. You good with that?"

Lynnie smacked her lips together, showing off her preferred shade of lipstick, "Stormy Pink." It reminded Lucy that twenty-three couldn't be as old as Lynnie (or Darry) made it out to be. It almost broke her heart to think that way, but she didn't let it.

"I'm very good with that."

She walked down the hallway to grab Jimmy, who was playing with his toy trains in the back bedroom that he immediately claimed as his when they first entered the house.

"Jimmy!" Lynnie called. "We're going to the park!"

Lucy stood back and chuckled at her excitable cousin. She wanted to feel that excited about something again. She used to be more energetic – more fun, even if she did spend most of her spare time reading books to curb her violent impulsivity. Since she'd become a mother, it was almost like nothing was hers (and only hers) anymore. For as much as Lucy adored Elenore and was proud to be a mother, she lamented the days when her time was her own. Now, she operated on Elenore's schedule. She had to anticipate when Elenore would be hungry, she had to read the books that Elenore wanted to read, and she had to be willing to abandon her schoolwork at the drop of the hat if Elenore decided she was stir crazy and needed to go for a walk somewhere. It didn't matter how lovely Elenore was or how much joy Lucy felt in her heart every time that beautiful baby girl smiled. Nothing changed the fact that being a mother to a one-year-old daughter was exhausting. Nothing changed the fact that day by day, Lucy Bennet was beginning to feel like an empty husk of what was once Lucy Bennet. And she hated herself for it.

She took another look at Lynnie's diploma from Smith, proudly hanging on the wall, proclaiming what Lucy already knew was true: Her cousin was one of the country's best and brightest, and any school would be lucky to have her on their faculty. But the longer Lucy stared at those letters, the more she thought about that question Dally had asked her earlier:

_Ain't college students supposed to join clubs and shit? Try to change the world?_

It was all she could think about as the cousins walked to Great Books to pick up Dally and Elenore. When Dally saw Lucy standing in front of the door that day, he furrowed his brow, took her aside, and asked her (demanded of her – after all, he was still Dallas Winston) what was the matter.

"Ya don't look right," he said. "Don't take that the wrong way."

"Is there a right way to take it?" Lucy asked.

"There's only one way, and that's … look, it don't matter. What's wrong, Bennet?"

Lucy sighed. She didn't have time for this. All she wanted was to get to the park with the kids so that Lynnie could flirt with Darry and she could get this over with.

Why did she keep thinking like that? She wasn't a bad mom. Johnny and Lilly's mother – now, there was a bad mom. Though she'd never known her, she knew Dally and Violet's mother had been congruently bad in her own way. Lucy didn't want to be like them. But the more she thought on it, the more she realized how monotonous her days were becoming … how predictable. She wanted to escape. She wanted to escape, and she hated herself for wanting that. It was her objective to be the best at any challenge that came her way. That included motherhood. So why did it feel so much _harder_? Why did it feel so much _different_?

"Bennet?"

"Huh?"

"Ya keep spacin' out on me. It's weird, man."

"Oh. Sorry. I … it's just getting a little hot. You know I don't do too well in the heat."

Dally nodded, though he wasn't convinced. After being married to Lucy for more than three years (and enjoying his time as her husband), he'd gotten to know her exceptionally well … and this was bullshit. However, it was bullshit that she wasn't ready to discuss, and he wasn't about to make her stand there and discuss it in front of their child, her favorite cousin, and her three-year-old son.

"I'll get you a glass a' water or somethin', then," he said. "C'mon. Let's go."

So, in awkward silence, they did.

* * *

_June 10, 1968_

_Dear Johnny,_

_ Bet you didnt expect to get a letter from me. Bet you REALLY didnt expect to get a letter from me before your wife does. By the way can you make it a point not to tell her I wrote you a letter before I wrote to her? I know its a long shot and Pony's probably already gone and told her that Ive written to just about everybody except for her and Jane. But I hold out hope for the kid and for all of you._

_ Really Im writing to you beacause I remembered something. You could be next. You know, you could be drafted next. And that just scared the hell out of me. You aint weak Johnnycake. You know that. Everybody knows that. All I mean is I dont want to see you get your head screwed up. Darry wrote to me and said Steve aint doing so good since he got back home. I know Im gonna be the same way in a little while. I just dont want it to keep spreading. I know you aint got a lot of choice but I thought Id let you know Im thinking about you a lot lately. Maybe you oughta knock Sadie up soon? I wish thats what would have happened with me and Jane. Guess it wasnt meant to be that way._

_ Im also writing to you beacause I wanna know how Sadie's doing but Im too afraid to ask her myself. Everything I write comes out wrong. Like nothing I say will ever be good enough for Sadie Lou to read. I figured you would know that better then anybody, what with you being her husband and all. You ever stop and think youre real lucky just to know her? I know you do. I think about her that way too … a little different, I might say, since Im only her brother. But she's just the best person who's ever lived. And I dont know how to tell her that without sounding phony. You know? I know you do. You know before I left Pony told me he thinks I understand everybody but I think youre better at it then me. Maybe you could tell me how Sadie's doing? Maybe you could tell me what you think she needs to hear. I know it sounds like Im using you and I guess I sort of am. But youre the only other person in the world who knows what its like to love Sadie Lou more than yourself. We need to help each other out. I need to tell you about who Sadie was when we was just kids. You need to tell me what she's like now that she's a grown up woman. That way … well that way we can find a way to make this wierd thing with the three of us work. Must be strange … being married to a twin and all that. You and Jane oughta have a lot to talk about when I get back and marry her. Just dont tell her Im thinkin about asking her to marry me. I want her to be sorta suprised._

_ I guess my point is this: Try your best not to have to leave Sadie. She was shakin so hard in the weeks before I left. Shed shake even harder if you were gonna leave too. Belive me. You aint got a clue how much my sister loves you but I do. Its more then youll ever know. And since she loves you that much … well then I gotta love you that much too. So I hope you can stay with her. I hope you guys are talkin about that. She needs you. And I guess since she does then I do too. Miss you guys. Say hi to Steve for me. Here's hoping he says hi back. – Sodapop Curtis_

* * *

Johnny sighed as he folded the letter and stuffed it into his pocket. Sadie was at work for the next couple of hours, so there wasn't any chance of her catching him reading a letter from her twin brother when she still hadn't heard from him. During the school year, Sadie was the secretary at her former elementary school, but now that it was summer, she had to pick up some shifts at Jay's. That pissed Darry off, and both Sadie and Johnny knew it. It wasn't that he thought a woman should stay home and take care of the family if she wanted to be doing something else. Lucy and Sadie had hammered it into his head that that shouldn't always be the case. He (like Johnny) only wished that if Sadie had to bust her hump and make money, then she should be making money doing something that she loved. When Johnny mentioned that to her one night after she came in from Jay's, she smiled a bit sadly and said, "Well, that's the problem. I don't know what I love."

That struck a chord with Johnny. Sadie didn't know what she loved. Did that mean she didn't know if she loved him? No, that couldn't be. Soda had just said (_written _– It was odd to remember that Soda didn't _say _anything to them anymore.) she loved him more than he could possibly imagine. And if Soda said something about Sadie, it had to be true. They knew each other better than they knew themselves. They were the first ones to admit it. But if Sadie didn't know what she loved … how was she ever supposed to be happy in their little corner of the world? How was Johnny supposed to be a decent husband if he didn't know what to provide for her? He gave her a home, and he was able to feed her. But he knew that wasn't enough. If that were enough, Two-Bit's parents would still be together. If that were enough, his own folks wouldn't rip each other's throats out every other night. He thought that maybe, once they were parents like they talked about, then Sadie would know more about what she loved and what she wanted. It was wishful thinking; he knew that. He remembered a fifteen-year-old Lucy Bennet with her nose in _The Feminine Mystique_, telling the boys there was a problem that had no name, and they best become aware of it, considering they each had a sister. Nobody listened to her more than Sadie. Was that what was wrong with her now? Did she only talk about having a baby because she didn't know what else to do?

He wondered if it was worth it to ask her. It probably was, but it would be a challenging conversation – one that Johnny wasn't sure he was itching to have. Of course he wanted to understand and be close to his wife. Still, there were questions he was afraid to confront. He was afraid of Sadie's responses, and in truth, he was a little more afraid of what _he _might say, when pressed.

Why did they want to become parents? It was the logical thing to do once you were married, they always thought, especially when you were married in their neighborhood. But why did they want to become parents so quickly? They were only nineteen. Lucy got pregnant with Elenore when she was nineteen, and everyone treated it like it was the biggest scandal since … well, maybe since Sandy, when Johnny thought about it. Why was it a given that Sadie and Johnny should become parents within their first year of marriage, but when Lucy and Dally had Elenore within the exact same time frame, everyone treated it like it was the end of the world? Was it because no one believed that Lucy's marriage to Dally was real? Was it because it was unbelievable that Dally would stay and take care of the kid?

He shook his head and tried to think of the alternative. Were people excited about the idea of Sadie and Johnny becoming parents because they knew that their marriage was genuine? Were they excited at the prospect because they knew that Johnny would be a good father?

That question made him feel a little sick. Such an assumption wasn't fair. Johnny had to admit that when Lucy and Dally told everybody that Lucy was pregnant, he worried that Dally wouldn't make it a month as a dad. That was a big deal, too, especially given the fact that Dally had never been anything but protective of him. Until Elenore was born, Johnny just couldn't see Dally as a father. He couldn't see him staying very long. And now, over a year later, he couldn't have been more wrong. Dally was (though no one would ever tell him to his face, for fear he'd panic and run away) a great father. He didn't particularly dote on Elenore, nor had she completely melted his heart. That would be have been unrealistic. But whenever he looked at that little girl, it was with such love and care. It was similar to the way he looked at Lucy … similar to the way he looked at Violet and Johnny when they were younger. If Dally looked at you like that, you knew there was no way you'd ever really get hurt, and if you did, the guy responsible was going to pay for it. Dally was a good father. It was unexpected, but it was true. Against all odds, Dally was a good father.

What made everyone else so sure that Johnny would overcome the same odds? He'd always been more outwardly sensitive than Dally, but how much did that really mean once there was a living, breathing baby in the house? Johnny knew why he wanted to be a father because it was the same reason his sister, Lilly, wanted to be a mother. They wanted to prove that they could be different from – better than – their folks. And they had to be better, didn't they? They'd spent more time in the Curtis house than in their house, and though the Curtis folks were a far cry from perfect, they loved their kids. They spoke to them like they were real people. Nobody ever felt like a burden or a mistake at the Curtis house. Surely, they would have learned more from them than from the people who called them worthless … who hit them just for standing in the way of the refrigerator.

But how did Johnny know that his father's conduct wasn't somehow biological? How could he be so sure that when Sadie handed him their baby in the hospital that he wouldn't hate it just for being born? He was terrified that if he became a father, some dark chord would strike within him, influencing him to take revenge on his old man through his child. He'd never shared those fears with anyone for fear that if he spoke them, they would come true. Yet, the more seriously Sadie talked about naming her son (sort of) after Soda … the more he thought about Soda's letter, imploring him to find a way to escape the draft and stay with Sadie … the more he figured he ought to speak up.

Speak up. That was the hardest thing Johnny ever had to make himself do.

* * *

At the same time Lucy and her family ambled toward Crutchfield Park, a fight was breaking out in the Curtis family living room. Sadie stopped by after her shift at Jay's because she wanted to tell Darry that Lynnie (the girl he hadn't stopped alluding to since she showed up at Elenore's birthday party at the end of April) was in town for good. Besides, she didn't want to go straight home. Johnny seemed a bit upset when she left for work that morning, and she was afraid of what he might have to say. She was worried that he was going to leave her for being so selfish and for worrying about Soda all the time when he, her husband, was there right in front of her. It would be out of Johnny's character to pull a stunt like that, but that didn't mean it wasn't on Sadie's mind. She thought maybe an hour or two with Darry would calm her down enough to head back to her house (her home). In retrospect, when she saw that Ponyboy was home, she should have known that wouldn't be the case.

The visit began pleasantly enough. Sadie and Darry sat in the living room with their glasses of water, catching each other up about the day's events almost as though they were genuine adults. After Sadie told Darry about Tim Shepard's poor excuse for a tip after she'd waited on him earlier, Darry told her that he'd almost thrown his back out carrying two bundles of roofing at the same time.

"We've been telling you not to do that since you were eighteen years old," Sadie said. "You're twenty-three now. You're an old man. Are you ever going to learn?"

"What can I say, Sadie?" Darry asked, trying to make light of something that really did (for some tough, annoyingly masculine reason) bother him. "I'm a hard learner. Nothing comes easy."

Sadie playfully rolled her eyes and ran her finger around the brim of the glass. There was a little nick in the center of it from where she'd chipped her tooth at the age of six. She remembered the sensation vividly. Soda had lost one of his front teeth a few hours earlier, but Sadie's weren't loose yet. Naturally, she was jealous that he was growing up faster than she was, so she tried to knock her front tooth loose on the brim of that glass. When it didn't work, Darry teased her about being a copycat and said she'd better use that glass for the rest of her life to remember what she did. It had been thirteen years, and she hadn't let him down yet.

"I know something you don't know," she said in a singsong voice.

Darry winced.

"You know I hate it when you use that voice," he said. "Whaddya know?"

"Oh, it's not a big deal. You remember Lucy's cousin, Lynnie? The one you thought was cute?"

In a rare move, Darry turned pink. Sadie would have giggled if she weren't trying so hard to play it cool.

"I never said that," he said awkwardly.

"Oh, please. You didn't need to. You mentioned her enough times for everyone else to just sort of assume."

Darry didn't even bother to put up a fight about it, which impressed Sadie. He usually resisted quite a bit more, almost like he didn't want his younger siblings to really know him. Sadie often wondered why that was, but it was a catch-22. The only way to find out this very personal information about Darry was to ask Darry about it, and he'd never give it up because he didn't like to give up his personal information. Sadie always considered herself fairly close to her older brother, but as she grew up, she wondered if she really knew him at all. She wondered if anyone did.

"Well, what about her?" Darry asked.

"She moved to town. Like, permanently. She got a new job teaching at our old elementary school. Looks she and I are gonna be co-workers, sort of. I'm not sure if secretaries are allowed to consider the teachers as their co-workers. Either way, I'm about to work in the same building as the girl you like."

Anxiously, Darry rubbed the skin on the back of his neck. Sadie was close to busting a gut.

"I don't know her enough to like her," he said.

"Well, then, it's a good thing she's living close by," Sadie said. "And it's an even better thing that she and Lucy are headed to Crutchfield Park with Elenore and Jimmy as we speak."

"Are you kiddin'?"

"Of course not. Lucy and I planned it days ago."

"You girls. You're really just … two girls, ain't ya?"

"The girly-est, some say."

Darry laughed and asked what the hell they were waiting for when a girl as pretty as Lynnie was alone in Crutchfield Park. But the moment Sadie stood up to leave, Ponyboy meandered out into the living room. He locked eyes with his sister and glared at her as though she was his nemesis (because, that summer, she was).

"What are_ you _doin' here?" he sneered.

"I'm paying a visit to my brothers," Sadie said.

"You ain't here to see me 's far 's I'm concerned. You ain't even askin' about me."

Darry moved closer to Ponyboy, feeling for a moment like he needed to protect Sadie from the kid. For all the times they'd fought in the past, he never thought Pony would try to hurt Sadie, but that summer, things were becoming really bad … and Ponyboy was becoming really strong. It was worth it to take precautions, he thought, in case the kid's sensibilities got the better of him. If anyone knew what that was like, it was Darry. He still felt guilty about slapping Ponyboy that night when he was just fourteen. He could've lost him that night … could've still been looking for him if Johnny had gone ahead and killed that Soc like he thought he was going to. It had been three years, and Darry had still never properly thanked Dally for saving their skins that night. He figured that because he was Dally, he wouldn't accept any gratitude. Of course, maybe now that he was a father, he might see things differently … or just get pissed that it took Darry so long to give him what he was owed. That was the thing about having Dallas Winston in your life. Even if you tried to love him, he wouldn't accept it because he didn't think he deserved it.

"Pony, calm down," Darry said. "You know why Sadie ain't askin' for you?"

"Darry, please …" Sadie begged, but he ignored her. He thought this was an important fight to have.

"How do you expect her to ask after you when you been treatin' her like dirt ever since she got married?"

Sadie buried her face in her hands and waited for the reckoning. With Ponyboy, there was always a reckoning.

"She don't fuckin' get it!" he roared. The dogs next door began to bark, scared out of their minds. They hadn't heard shouting like this come from the Curtis house since Pony was fourteen years old. "She don't fuckin' get it! She gets everything I want, and I'm fuckin' _tired _of it!"

"What are you talkin' about, Ponyboy?" Darry asked. He sounded surprised, but Sadie wasn't surprised at all. It was the same thing he'd been saying for months (years, really). The difference was that Darry could finally hear it.

"It's been the same way since I was a little kid," he said. His screams were turning softer; he was almost crying now. That was typical for Ponyboy. He didn't like it, but he cried when he was angry. Sadie admired that about her brother. She figured it made him stronger than if he just threw shit around and hurt people.

"The same way forever," he said. "Darry and I get into a fight; Sadie takes his side. And it ain't like Soda's really on my side 'cause he loves Sadie better than any of us."

No one responded to that. What were they supposed to say? That it was true? Of course Sadie and Soda loved each other better than they loved Darry and Pony, but it was only by virtue of their twinship. They would have taken any number of bullets if it meant protecting their brothers. Surely, Darry understood that. Why was it so different for Ponyboy?

"Nobody was takin' anybody's side," Darry said. "Sadie and Soda were just tryin' to help us figure out how to meet in the middle. Didn't you get that?"

"No, I didn't fuckin' get it. I ain't as old as you, and y'all keep forgettin' that."

"Which one is it?" Sadie asked. She was close to yelling, too. "You want us to treat ya like a man, but then ya want us to treat ya like a baby. It can't be both!"

"Sadie!" Darry shouted. He almost never shouted at Sadie, so it surprised everyone, including Darry himself.

"What?"

"You don't … don't talk to him like that, ya hear me? He's still a kid; you're an adult."

While Darry's words didn't exactly rip Sadie in half, she knew she was close to bursting. She couldn't keep her cool long enough, and she was tired of biting her tongue.

"Shut up!" she snapped. "I ain't an adult! I'm nineteen! Dammit! Would everybody around here stop treatin' nineteen like it's old enough to collect Social Security?"

"Nineteen ain't as young as it oughta be, and you know that," Darry said. He knew he should be talking to Ponyboy (and that he was probably proving Pony's point about Sadie getting more attention than he got), but the look of anger and desperation on his sister's face was just too much to ignore. "Steve was nineteen when he got shipped out to 'Nam, and look at him now. I was nineteen when I was made to take care of the three o'you. And look where Soda's at an' how old he is."

Sadie bowed her head and stared at the floor at the mention of Soda's name. She was still quite angry with Ponyboy for telling her that he'd received a letter from Soda, but she hadn't. Darry, sensing Sadie's rage turn quickly to sadness, exhaled and tried to shift the focus back to the tension between Pony and Sadie.

"I'm tired of the two of you bein' at each other's throats every time she comes over here," Darry said. "You weren't always like this. It's like after Sadie got married …"

"After Sadie got married, and she _really _took everything away from me," Ponyboy said. "Did you _forget_, Darry? Sadie married Johnny. She married my best friend. Me and Johnny had a good thing goin', and she came in an' messed it all up. Now, if I wanna go to a movie, he's gotta invite _Sadie_."

"What's the matter with invitin' Sadie? She's your sister. I thought the two of you liked each other."

"I do like Sadie. I love Sadie. She knows that."

Ponyboy looked past Darry and at his one and only sister, who stared back at him. Her expression was stiff and maybe a little afraid, but she nodded nonetheless. Even as he stood there cursing her name, Sadie knew that her littlest brother loved her. He wouldn't care to air all of his grievances with her if he didn't really love her.

"It's just that I thought when you and all your brothers and sisters grow up, ya spend a little time apart," Ponyboy said. "But everywhere I look, there's my sister. It's like I never get a break from any of you … but especially not from her."

"Ponyboy …"

"And then I start to worry whether … I don't know, I start to worry whether my own best friend likes my sister better than he likes me. And of course he does. She's his wife. But … I don't know. It'd sure be fuckin' nice if somebody liked me best for a change."

Sadie and Darry looked at one another. Part of them felt sympathy for their brother, who really did feel alone and confused … at a crossroads with no one, he thought, to talk him through it. Mostly, however, they were fed up that he was still this blind to what everyone else already knew. Sadie wasn't going to say anything, but much to her surprise, Darry piped up.

"Are you _blind_, kid?" he asked. "You think nobody out there likes you best?"

"Well, no," Ponyboy said. "Soda and Sadie are twins; Johnny married Sadie. Everybody else still thinks I'm some kinda tagalong."

"Uh-huh. And, uh, tell me. Who were you sitting out here with until two o'clock in the morning? Who did I find sleepin' on our couch this mornin' 'cause you were afraid to let her walk home that late?"

"Carrie Shepard."

"Carrie Shepard. You know, that girl you been fake datin' for the past three years?"

Sadie stifled another giggle. When they were younger, she never talked to Darry and Ponyboy about crushes, even though she had a few every now and again. She only talked about that kind of stuff with Soda because he was her twin, and he had no choice but to understand and to feel exactly what she was feeling. With Soda gone, Pony and Darry were the only ones left to talk to about love. She was surprised by how easy it felt to stand there and let Darry grill Ponyboy about his weird relationship with Carrie Shepard. Maybe it was because she wasn't the one on trial.

"Carrie and I ain't datin'," Ponyboy said. "We have an understanding. We talk about books, and we've made out a couple times, but we ain't datin'. That ain't for me. Not right now, anyway. I gotta start college, and I gotta make good grades if I wanna keep up that scholarship."

Darry smiled, though Sadie and Ponyboy could easily see that he was suppressing a much bigger smile. Evidently, all the nagging he'd forced the kid to endure had paid off. He was just a few months away from his first semester at the University of Tulsa, and he was taking his grades more seriously than ever. Of course, that didn't change the fact that when it came down to Carrie Shepard, his skull couldn't have been any thicker.

"Alright, that ain't unfair," Darry said. "But if you want somebody who loves you first all the time, I think that's who ya got. And don't go tellin' me you and Carrie have only made out a couple of times. Don't think I don't know what ya did on Valentine's Day this year."

While Ponyboy turned an unsightly shade of rose, Sadie's eyebrows disappeared into the hair on her head. She turned to Ponyboy, stunned out of her mind. She was only able to yell out one word: "Ponyboy!"

"Shuddup," he said. "Like you were so innocent."

"I _was _so innocent – for two years longer than you were, apparently."

"Dammit, Sadie, I don't …" he turned to Darry, congruently embarrassed and annoyed. "How'd you even find out about that, anyway?"

"There was a whole condom missin' from the pack in the medicine cabinet," Darry said. "Soda knows how to use his head, so I knew he was buyin' his own."

"And you knew you didn't have any use for one, which has gotta be why you knew how many were in the pack. Probably kept count to embarrass yourself in front of yourself." Pony's tone wasn't hostile, though it was still enough to make Darry blush. Sadie had to giggle a little. It was a nice distraction from Ponyboy's anger with her.

"Hey, kid brother. I do OK," Darry finally managed.

"Then why'd ya have so many?"

"How do you know that wasn't a brand-new pack?"

"'Cause I know."

Darry laughed. It was about all he could do. The paternal instinct he'd been made to cultivate when he was just nineteen kicked in, and there was a part of him that wished the kid would have waited until he learned to treat Carrie with the respect she deserved. Carrie Shepard had seen enough shit in her days; she didn't need some yahoo boy loving her and leaving her without any real love. But there was nothing he could do to change that now. All he could do was try to make it light, which made him feel a little bit helpless. He didn't know why that was the word he was reaching for, but it seemed to be the word he needed.

"Now, if the two of you jokers would excuse me," Darry said as he made his way toward the front door, "I gotta be somewhere."

He smiled at Sadie, silently telling her that he was on his way to Crutchfield Park, and if she could try to come to a temporary resolution with Ponyboy, he'd be grateful. Sadie nodded. For Darry, she'd try anything. He left, and as soon as he was down the block, Ponyboy sulked back into his room. Sadie, not having it, stormed off and followed him, catching his door in her hand just before he could slam it shut.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked.

"I'm goin' back to my book," Ponyboy said. He wandered over to his bed and picked up a copy of _To the Lighthouse_. When Sadie saw the title, she smiled. Off his sister's smile, Ponyboy frowned.

"Why're you lookin' at me like that?" he asked, almost like she was gross to be around.

"It's nothing," Sadie said. "I just never figured you for a Virginia Woolf kinda guy."

"I never figured myself for one, either. Carrie just can't get enough of her, though. I like to read what Carrie reads. Gives me a good perspective on things."

"Uh-huh. But making Carrie your girlfriend, even after you slept with her on Valentine's Day, of all days … that's too much?"

Ponyboy frowned even more and threw the book down on the bed.

"You don't fuckin' get it," he said. "You don't fuckin' get anything. You just think you do 'cause you're Soda's twin, and he understands everybody. Well, you ain't as good at talkin' to people about their feelings as Soda, and you know it."

He angrily sat down on his bed, folding his arms across his chest like a petulant child, hoping it would be enough to drive Sadie out of his room already. She really _was _everywhere he went, even now that she was married and supposedly lived somewhere else.

"You're right," Sadie said. "I'm not Soda. And we're twins, but I don't even look enough like him to pretend. He's way prettier than me."

"Ah, don't pull that, Sadie. You're real pretty, too. And I have to say that. It's called a family resemblance."

Sadie smiled, and this time, Ponyboy smiled, too. He couldn't help it. She pissed him right off, but dammit, if he didn't love the hell out of his sister. She was, after all, his _only _sister, and there was something to be said for that.

"You're right," Sadie said. "And I'm sorry that it feels like I've … moved in on your turf or that people listen to me more than they listen to you."

"It ain't your fault. I'm just overreactin' again."

"No, you make some good points. It's weird when your best friend gets married. When Lucy and Dally shacked up together, I felt like I was all alone in the world. Just totally lost, like she didn't need a good girl friend anymore. But I was wrong."

"That's easy for you and Lucy. I never seen a pair o' best friends closer than you."

"Hmm, and we thank you for your admiration. Point is, I hated it when Lucy first got married because I felt like I was an island."

"'No man is an island.'"

"Yes, Donne, very good. Very …"

She was going to say _cliché, _but she decided Ponyboy was too fragile to be called _cliché_.

"Doesn't matter," she added. "What matters is that I can't even imagine how fuckin' weird it must be for your best friend to have married _your sister_. I'd say I'm sorry that's the way it all shook out, but I'm not sorry. I love Johnny, and I'm glad I married him."

In that moment, Sadie knew she ought to run home to Johnny and tell him that. She hated looking at him and knowing he had doubts. But would Johnny _always _have doubts? Was that the nature of being Johnny? She didn't know. She didn't know, and it drove her insane. A wife should know her husband, and oftentimes, when Sadie looked at Johnny, she worried she was looking at a stranger.

"But I also love _you_," Sadie said, and Pony looked up, confused. The siblings almost never outright told each other they loved each other unless they really needed to hear it. Ponyboy was surprised to realize how much he needed to hear it … and how much he needed to hear it from Sadie.

"You're my brother," Sadie said. "And that … well, that pretty much speaks for itself."

"Yeah, it does."

"But I know how weird this must be. For everybody, really, but especially for you. Maybe you and Steve can start a support group for when Soda gets back and marries Jane. A support group for guys whose sisters married their best friends."

"Oh, yeah, that's just what I need. A support group with somebody who hates me. It might be your best idea yet."

"It might be."

Ponyboy concealed a smile and went to grab his book, but Sadie intercepted. She aimlessly thumbed through the pages, which annoyed Ponyboy.

"What're you doing?" he asked. "That's my book."

"I'll give it back. I only wanted to remind you of something."

"What?"

"Do you remember who taught you how to read?"

Ponyboy shrugged.

"I don't know. I was pretty little, so I don't have a lot of memories of that time. I guess I always figured it was Mom or Dad or a teacher or something."

Sadie shook her head and beamed.

"Nope," she said. "Not exactly."

"Then who was it?"

"It was me. I taught you how to read."

Ponyboy furrowed his brow, but then, he smiled. He seemed to have a faint memory of sitting beside Sadie on the couch as she pointed at the words in _Blueberries for Sal_, making him sound them out one by one. He remembered the book – remembered the way the pages felt on his hands, the way it smelled, and the way he was always hungry for blueberries when it was over – but he didn't remember it was Sadie who sat beside him as he learned to read it. In hindsight, it seemed right. Like Sadie was the only one who would have been patient enough to teach him.

"So, remember that when you're finishing up your Virginia Woolf," Sadie said, still getting a kick out of the idea that her brother was into Woolf. "Ya can't hate me. Without me, you wouldn't be readin' like you do."

She handed the book back to him, and he concealed another smile. Sadie was OK with that. Ponyboy was always trying to seem tougher than he really was.

"Thanks," he said.

Sadie really smiled, perhaps in an effort to show Ponyboy that it was OK to be a little less cool when it was just the two of them.

"You're welcome."

* * *

"Jimmy!" Lynnie ran up to her son in the sandbox and tore him away from baby Elenore, who was toddling in the grass. She'd been walking for a little while, but she was still a bit slow … which Jimmy, at the age of three, really took advantage of that day in Crutchfield Park. He tried to dump fistfuls of sand over her head, and he would have succeeded had Lynnie not been paying closer attention.

"What, Mama?" Jimmy asked.

"It's not very nice to throw sand in your cousin's face," Lynnie said. "I thought you knew that."

She turned to Lucy with apologetic eyes.

"He usually doesn't act out like this," Lynnie said. "Really. But ever since we got here, he's been acting like a little terror."

"It's OK," Lucy said, even though it clearly wasn't. She probably would have clawed the kid's eyes out if he'd even tried to hurt Elenore. "He's little, and you just moved him from New Haven to Tulsa. He's bound to act out."

Lynnie smirked and said, "Look at you. Acting like a big, grown-up mom. I'm impressed."

Lucy grinned, but it was hollow. Of course Lynnie knew she was _acting _like a mom. She wasn't sure she was a good one, nor was she sure she would ever be. It occurred to her all of a sudden that loving Elenore wasn't enough. If it were, she wouldn't have all these doubts. Her love for Elenore was immense and never-ending … so why did she feel so false? And why had it crept up on her so suddenly? Wasn't she already supposed to have felt like this?

Before she could spiral out of control with unanswerable questions and borrowed trouble, Dally scooped Elenore up from the ground and brought her over to Lucy. He smirked at her and bent down a bit to kiss her quickly.

"Hey," Lucy said.

"Hey. Listen, we really shouldn't let Elenore walk around in the grass around here."

"How come?"

"I just remembered how badly we treated this place when we were kids. Broken beer bottles and cigarette butts and shit. I don't want her steppin' in somethin' and hurtin' herself."

Dally's concern made Lucy angry. She didn't even have time to be impressed by the fact that Dallas Winston was now the kind of guy who worried about a baby – _his baby _– hurting herself in the grass at Crutchfield Park. Instead, she was worried that he was a better parent than she was, and that just seemed backward and unfair. Why hadn't she thought about the grass as a potential hazard for Elenore's poor little baby skin? She just dropped her in the grass and told her to go play like an idiot. She hated herself for that.

"Good point," Lucy finally said.

"Are you OK, Bennet? You seem kinda … like you're not here. Like you're some place else."

"Where else would I be? I'm standing right in front of you, aren't I?"

"That's not what I mean. I got you a glass of water before. Do you need another one?"

There he went again. Dallas Winston, the suddenly supportive husband who put his wife's needs ahead of his own. Where was the sense in that? Where was the fairness? Dallas Winston had never shown outward compassion for anyone until he hooked up with Lucy Bennet, and now, practically overnight, he was a decent guy. And Lucy, the woman who reminded him that he could be decent, was suddenly a monster … or so she felt. Why couldn't she make herself _care more_? Why couldn't she figure out how to be a better mother and a better wife?

She thought back to a passage in _The Feminine Mystique _she had underlined back in '63 but hadn't understood because she was a working-class teenager and not an affluent white housewife: "As she made the beds, shopped for groceries, matched slipcover material, ate peanut butter sandwiches with her children, chauffeured Cub Scouts and Brownies, lay beside her husband at night -she was afraid to ask even of herself the silent question- 'Is this all?'"

The passage had meant something to her when she was a teenager because she liked the way it sounded, and she thought women did deserve passions outside of the domestic sphere. She had passions, after all – reading and writing and maybe, one day, teaching. Now that she was a mother, she asked herself the same question almost everyday, and she finally understood all the uproar about Betty Friedan. It was hard to be a mother and question whether or not being a mother was enough for you. It made you feel like you were cheating the people you loved most in the world when it was the last thing you wanted to do. Lucy could have passed out then and there, but she couldn't have Dally know that she was in turmoil. He wouldn't have thought that was cool, and it still mattered to her that he thought she was cool. Why did that still matter?

"No," Lucy said. "I'm fine. I'm just a little tired."

It wasn't a lie.

"Do we need to head home? Tell Lynnie and the kid we're callin' it a night?"

Lucy glanced over in Lynnie's direction. Just as according to the plan she and Sadie had set in motion, she was chatting happily with Darry on the other end of the park. She was so lost in his eyes she'd never notice if the Bennet-Winstons took off.

"She'll figure it out," Lucy said. "C'mon. Let's leave them alone."

They took off toward Great Books, and a decent chunk of their walk was spent in silence. Dally wondered if he had done something wrong. He was sure that he had. After all, he was Dallas Winston, and the world was never at rest unless he was doing something wrong. He almost said something about ten minutes into the walk, but Lucy interrupted his thoughts. Thank God.

"Dally?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you … do you think I'm a good mom?"

Dally laughed a little – not because he thought Lucy was a bad mom but because she certainly wasn't. If Elenore had one bad parent, it was surely her father.

"You're a real good mom," he said. "You're a better mom than whatever I had when I was a kid."

Lucy felt her heart drop. That wasn't the comparison she was looking for, which Dally very swiftly recognized.

"Not like you're anything like my old lady," he said. "You ain't. You're a real good mom. Elenore's a real lucky baby to have you."

It was just like Dally to say what she wanted to hear. Since they'd gotten married, he'd gotten wise to that – too wise, and now that Lucy needed him to be brutally honest, it was like he'd forgotten the way he used to be. Had she neutered him? Was he going to resent her for that? Did he already? She felt sick.

"But _why _do you say I'm a good mom?" she asked.

Dally sighed. It didn't matter how much he was changing each day. He still didn't love to have enormous, emotional talks with his wife about her parenting on their walk back to the apartment on a hot day. She should have just known she was a good mother. And yet, that was Lucy … always thinking less of herself than she ought to and then covering it up with a false sense of arrogance. Just when he thought she was growing up, she was shrinking.

"You're always thinkin' about how to make things better for Elenore," he said. "You feed her. You take her for walks when she's stir crazy. You read books to her and talk to her real nicely. That's a good mom."

"That's the bare minimum."

"Is it?"

Lucy sighed and muttered something about Dally not getting it. He muttered something back about how she was wrong, and he did get it. He wasn't a perfect parent – not by a long shot or any shot, really. But he knew he gave a damn about his daughter, and he liked to think he knew how to show that. He might have been an idiot, but he knew what a father was supposed to look like. He knew what a mother was supposed to look like, too, in spite of his motherless childhood. They were decent parents. Maybe better than decent. Weren't they? Dally hated it when Lucy had doubts. She was supposed to be the smart one – the one who knew everything. And if she didn't know if they were good parents, then he must have been way off the mark. Wasn't he?

"I think you're a real good mom," Dally said. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

But that was exactly it. He _would _just say it if he didn't mean it. That was the kind of guy he'd become. Lucy felt like she was trapped in a circle of nothingness, and she didn't know how to get out. She didn't _want _to get out. She wanted to figure out where she was headed in her life – if she was destined to do anything except raise Elenore and tend to Dally's open wounds when he came back from a fight or getting knocked off a horse, which still happened more frequently than Lucy would have preferred. Maybe she ought to call her father soon … talk about the possibility of a girl getting into a Ph.D. program, particularly when the girl was Jack Bennet's daughter. Everything just seemed so out of reach. Everything, of course, except Elenore.

Then again, when she tried to carry her the rest of the way home, she yelled and wouldn't allow her mother to take her out of her father's arms. It broke Lucy's heart when she realized Elenore didn't want to be held by her own mama. She was a smart baby, that Elenore. If she knew that Dally was the better parent, then it wasn't just in Lucy's head. It was true.

When they got home and put Elenore in her crib for a nap, Dally leaned over and kissed Lucy's cheek. She blushed. It was unexpected … and cute. It took her mind off the burnout she felt in her bones and made her feel twenty years old – the way she thought twenty years old was supposed to feel if you didn't get married on a dare when you were still in high school.

"You really are a good mom," Dally repeated. It was sounding very cut-and-dried now, but it was all he had. "You're always breakin' your back to make sure Elenore's taken care of. That's what a good mom does."

Lucy nodded and kissed her husband back, but as soon as the kiss ended, she thought. Maybe she _did _break her back trying to take care of Elenore, and maybe that was expected of a good mom – of any mom. But did a good mom feel so _tired _after she took care of her baby? Did a good mom ever feel like she'd rather be doing something else? It pained her to even think about it.

She wandered into the bathroom and shut the door, weakly giving some excuse of not feeling well when Dally asked her where the hell she was going. She just couldn't stand over the crib and look at Elenore for another second. Elenore deserved so much better than the mother she had. Now that she had finally admitted (in real thoughts) that there were times she'd rather be doing _anything but_ care for the baby, she was sure of that.

What was she supposed to do now?

* * *

It was the middle of the afternoon, and Lilly Cade was browsing the magazine covers at the drugstore. Regrettably, she was alone. Her best friend, Katie Mathews, was at work, leaving Lilly alone with her thoughts. She stared at the beautiful actresses on the beautiful magazine covers and wondered if anyone would ever _gaze _at her. She'd heard Lucy and Sadie talk about how women shouldn't want to be gazed at, since that meant they were like pretty objects and not like real people. As much as she understood where they were coming from (And Lilly _did _understand, as she wasn't as dumb as everyone seemed to want her to be.), she didn't see the harm in being beautiful. In fact, she thought being beautiful was maybe the best thing somebody like her could be.

Her mother had been beautiful – once, long before Lilly could remember seeing her face. She had the same long, thick, dark hair that Lilly and Johnny had. She had the same big, black eyes and smooth skin. Lilly knew because she'd seen a few photographs. It was almost worth a chuckle or two. Even the most dysfunctional (a euphemism if Lilly had ever heard one) of families could get a little sentimental from time to time. Not a day went by where Lilly didn't wonder where all that beauty went. She wished she could place the onus on her mother for losing it, but she couldn't. She and Johnny were alike in that way. Even though they desperately wanted to hate their parents and to pretend like they'd never known them at all, they couldn't manage. Their hearts, somehow, were too kind, and they loved them in spite of themselves. It was their curse.

Lilly hadn't been kidding when she said she wanted to be a mother as soon as possible. Now that she had graduated high school, she felt like she was more eligible than ever. Katie and Carrie made good points when they said she needed to find a man (a man who was around in Tulsa or at least in the country, not in Vietnam, probably forgetting that he ever said he could have fallen in love with her) to make that happen. It didn't change the fact that she felt ready. She'd seen how great Lucy was with Elenore and couldn't wait for that to be her. She couldn't wait to prove everyone wrong – anyone who ever thought that she wouldn't amount to anything simply because of who her parents were. In that way, she and Johnny were nothing alike.

Recently, she discovered that Johnny was terrified of turning into their father. He confided her in her a few weeks earlier when he panicked about trying to get Sadie pregnant (which, in part, was motivated by a desire to be like Dally and stay out of Vietnam). He thought it was absurd to assume that just because he'd shown sensitivity before, then he'd automatically be a decent father. After all, people said exactly the opposite of Dally when they heard that Lucy was pregnant, and he turned out to be a pretty damn good daddy to Elenore. Who was to say that the same thing wouldn't happen to Johnny – everyone would assume one thing about his future parenting skills only to discover the truth? Lilly thought that was bullshit. She knew her brother; he was a good man, and good men became good fathers. Their old man hadn't been decent since he learned to speak, or so Lilly had always supposed. Johnny wasn't going to turn into him because they were never anything alike in the first place. Didn't he understand that? Lilly did. She knew she wasn't bound to turn out like her mother. Her behavior was a choice, and for as long as Lilly could remember, she had chosen positivity and love over everything else. She had no doubt she'd be able to give that to her baby when she had one. She had no doubt she'd be able to give the same kind of love to her husband … if she ever had one. Having a baby seemed more certain than having a husband. Perhaps on the West Side, that would have seemed a bit backward. At home, it seemed just right.

She closed her eyes and thought back to a night just a few months before she turned sixteen. She remembered the way those hands cupped her face – so gentle, so loving, like he'd been wanting to kiss her for years but didn't know how. Lilly touched her tongue to the inside of her lips and could have sworn she could still taste the beer on his tongue from that night. It had been years, and it was still one of her strongest memories. She wanted to open it up again now that she was older and a little more relaxed about falling love (though not _a lot _more relaxed – that was certain). She wanted to fall back into his arms; yet, his arms were too far away. They were far enough away to forget her, and in truth, they probably already had.

In the midst of all her worries, Katie Mathews burst through the door wearing the biggest smile Lilly had seen in forever. They rushed up to each other, and Katie was bouncing up and down like a little jack-in-the-box. It took her almost two full minutes to calm down and remember how to speak English again.

"Breathe, Kate," Lilly said, fully aware of the irony, as she was the one who usually needed to relax.

"I'm trying!" Katie said. She was giggling with this joy that Lilly was pretty sure she hadn't seen out of Katie since they were in the fifth grade. "I just found out, and you were the first person I had to tell!"

"Well, how did you know I'd be here, looking at the magazines?"

"Because I know _you_, Lil. This is how you spend all of your free moments."

Lilly shrugged. She couldn't argue with something she knew was true. Besides, why would she ever want to argue it? She liked that she liked magazines. It was part of the Lilly experience, which she was proud of. Anyone would be lucky to fall in love with her. At least, that was what she thought she had to keep telling herself.

"What's goin' on?" she asked.

Katie jumped up and down a few more times before finally looking Lilly square in the eye and saying exactly what the two of them had been dying to hear since the previous summer. It was here. It was finally time.

"It's official," Katie said. "I just found out the news. Two-Bit's comin' back. He's comin' back July 10."

Lilly's eyes went wider than ever. She knew it was what Katie was going to say, but that didn't take away from the shock and awe pulsing through her little body. It was here. It was finally time. Two-Bit was coming back, and he was coming back (as far as Lilly was concerned) to be with Lilly. What else could he possibly have on his mind?

* * *

_June 30, 1968_

_Dear Sadie Lou,_

_ Well, I guess I should be writing you a letter now huh?_

* * *

**And that's that on that! I'll consider it … almost the end of Act I? Once Two-Bit comes back and we get into July … that's when things really start to pick up beyond the serious introspection that the fic has been to this point. So thank you for reading through the slow parts … if you're reading this at all, that is!**

**Indeed, that _is _the start of Soda's letter to Sadie from "I'll Be Your Mirror." It's a holistic universe, my friends.**

**Hinton owns _The Outsiders. _I quote Betty Friedan's book, **_**The Feminine Mystique**_**, here. I know the book has problems, but Lucy definitely would have been super into it in 1963.**


	6. Chapter 6

It was difficult to tell who was more excited about Two-Bit coming home: Katie or Lilly. On the one hand, Katie was getting everything ready, and she was bizarrely organized about it. She'd already enlisted Darry to buy the beer, which was quite the fight, even though Two-Bit had just had his twenty-first birthday near the end of June. Darry thought that buying beer would contribute to a larger problem they'd been trying to address since he was in eleventh grade for the second time. Katie said they could put the conversation off by a night and let him have a little fun. After about half an hour, they were arguing themselves in circles, and Darry gave in. Katie decided she would owe him quite a bit for that.

In preparation for Two-Bit's return, Katie had also bought him a cheap book of cheap insults, knowing he'd love that. He'd especially love to use them on _her_, the kid sister who took about 90% of his jokes while the other 10% was distributed between the gang and the Socs who got in their way. Part of her bought him the book because it was really up his alley; the other part of her bought it because she thought it might help to lift his spirits once he was back. In truth, she knew the attempt was probably futile. Yet, Steve still hadn't gotten used to being back home, and she (selfishly) didn't want the same thing for Two-Bit. She figured if anyone could welcome a brother back home, she was the one who could do it. Jane Randle might have loved Steve in the way that almost all sisters loved almost all brothers, but they'd never had the same connection as the Mathews siblings. Katie knew (or, at least, thought she knew) what Two-Bit needed … how to best comfort and heal him. A cheap book of cheap insults was a good start. It had to be. It was the only option she really had.

Nevertheless, though Katie was thrilled at the idea of having her brother back, Lilly was walking on air with the prospect that she could have her _lover _back. She made that joke at least once a day (brother versus lover), and Katie claimed that it confused her because she and Two-Bit had never actually shared a moment. Lilly raised her shoulders over her ears and got quiet after that. It made Katie think back to that morning when they were in the tenth grade, and she found Lilly in Two-Bit's room. Though her brother and her best friend promised her that nothing happened, and she believed them for years, she couldn't help but wonder if it was all a ruse now that she was older. If something _had _happened between them, of course they wouldn't want Katie to know. Nobody ever wanted Katie to know anything.

In part, she understood why that was so often the case. Like Lilly, Katie was a notorious gossip. She'd managed to get away with it, but when Lucy got pregnant with Elenore, Katie spread just as many rumors about the pregnancy as Lilly did. They were best friends. It was Katie's responsibility to balance out Lilly's gossip (and the other way around). But there was a part of Katie that couldn't help but wonder if the other girls liked Lilly better than they liked her. Lucy had always felt particularly protective of Lilly, for one thing. On that day when Katie assumed that something had happened between Two-Bit and Lilly, Lucy immediately jumped to Lilly's defense. She never even stopped to think whether or not Katie's perspective was credible. Sadie and Jane took Lucy's side in the end, too. She knew that her friends liked her, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was altogether less important than Lilly. Maybe they just felt that Lilly needed more love. That wouldn't have been a lie. It still didn't seem like a good enough reason for Katie to always be on the outs … to always feel like she was somehow competing with Lilly for the other girls' attention.

In the first few weeks of Soda's tour in Vietnam, Katie sat next to Jane during a movie at the Dingo. While Katie was trying to enjoy _The Odd Couple _for what it was, Jane waxed poetic about how she felt out of place now that both her boyfriend and her brother were gone. She even said that she didn't feel like there was anyone left to truly love her if they weren't there. While Katie politely nodded and pretended to listen, she couldn't help but think that what Jane was saying was a load of bullshit. Maybe it _was _hard on her to have lost her boyfriend and her brother to the draft at relatively the same time, but there were plenty of people in Tulsa who unconditionally loved Jane. She had Lucy and Sadie. As Soda's girl, she had Ponyboy and Darry, too. With Two-Bit gone, who did Katie have? Lilly, she supposed, but her friendship with Lilly was much different than whatever it was Lucy, Sadie, and Jane had. They were truly like sisters. Lilly was interested in light conversation, but any time Katie tried to talk to her about things that really mattered, Lilly always panicked. Maybe it was because she was still afraid of being emotionally close to someone. Katie knew that was it. That didn't mean she wasn't frustrated by it.

So, when she heard that Two-Bit – the person who loved and understood her best in the world – was coming back home for good, Katie couldn't have been more thrilled out of her mind. And when she went to pick him up and take him back to the place where he belonged, she was _thrilled _to discover that he didn't seem to be much different than he was before he left. The first thing he said to her was, "Man, you're still growin' like a weed. They oughta roll you up and send you off to a buncha hippies 'round the U.S." Katie grinned from one ear to the next. That was the same old Two-Bit to her.

On the ride home, Katie told her brother about all the things they had planned for him that evening. Like they'd done for Steve, they were throwing him a party (or something like a party) at the Curtis house. He seemed in good spirits about that and asked if baby Elenore was going to be there.

"Does she still answer every question by sayin' yes?" he asked.

"Sometimes," Katie said. "She's gotten better at figuring out the difference."

"Man, I sure could use a baby. Not my own or nothin'. But I sure could use a couple hours with ole Dally's baby. 'Ole Dally's baby.' Never thought that'd happen. Well, never thought it'd happen the way it did."

Katie nodded, though she was tired of hearing the same line about Dally having a daughter over and over again. She knew Lucy and Dally were tired of it, too. In hindsight, the joke had really been ridiculous all along. Though Katie and Dally had never been particularly close (which should have been evident), she knew him well enough to know that he always had it in him to stick around and care for the right people. He felt too guilty about leaving Violet behind when he was a kid to ever do anything like that again. It was just that nobody had ever cared enough to ask Dally to stay until Lucy did. Surely, if Katie knew that, then Two-Bit did.

"Everybody's already there," Katie said. "The baby included. We been showin' her your picture 'cause she's gettin' real good at recognizing people from their pictures now. She says your name kinda funny, too. She hits to 'ooh' real hard in _Two_."

"Sounds cute to me. Man, Soda sure did talk about her all the time."

Katie wasn't sure what to make of that. When Steve returned, Jane mentioned that he said something similar. It probably wasn't anything to cause alarm. Elenore was Soda's goddaughter. If anyone were going to talk about her, except for her parents, it would be one of her godparents. But then Katie began to think about something she heard Darry say to Sadie one night at the Curtis house when they didn't know anyone was standing outside of the kitchen.

"I worry about Soda goin' to war," Darry had said. "He's got such a … he's got kind of a young boy's soul, don't ya think?"

"He does," Sadie had agreed. "But I like to think that's what'll save him."

Katie had remembered that conversation between Darry and Sadie because it reminded her so much of Two-Bit. His sense of humor was juvenile, and before he was shipped out, his highest priority was getting high … having a good time. She was afraid it would hurt him. At the same time, she was afraid he would lose what made him Two-Bit when he was over there. She didn't know which one she'd prefer. Admittedly, when he was still grinning like Will Rogers and cracking jokes like Bob Hope, despite everything he'd seen … despite the pouring rain outside … Katie was relieved that he seemed to retain his childlike self. It meant, maybe, not much was going to change.

When she parked the car in front of the Curtis house, and they made their way into the living room, Katie was pleased at how respectful everybody was of Two-Bit's space. Their arms were open to him, but the room was relaxed. Nobody was yelling. Nobody was jumping on him. It was all very gentle … very peaceful. Darry stuck out his hand for a shake, but it was Two-Bit who wrapped him up in a hug. Katie could have sworn her brother was going to cry when he hugged Darry like that. The two of them had always had a closeness that no one else in the gang really understood. In the past, Katie always figured it had something to do with the fact that they were almost opposites, though not quite.

At long last, Lucy and Dally stepped forward to welcome Two-Bit back home. Elenore was in Dally's arms, which was a bit odd. Recently, Lucy had been holding Elenore less and less. It never seemed to bother Dally to hold Elenore. In fact, he always seemed to like it.

Two-Bit grinned at Elenore, and she smiled back. Lucy grabbed the baby's hand and made her wave at Two-Bit.

"Who's that, Elenore?" Lucy asked. "C'mon, we practiced this one. Who's that?"

"Don't egg her on like that, Bennet," Dally said. "She knows what to say."

"C'mon, Elenore," Two-Bit said. "You remember me, don't ya?"

"Twooooh-Bit," Elenore said and then giggled because she knew she was right.

Two-Bit had to laugh. Katie was right. She hit that _ooh _pretty hard, and that was the charm of it. He tried to give the baby a high five, and she almost obliged, though she didn't really understand the concept of a high five. Lucy and Dally thought they were dorky, so they never taught it to her.

"Our baby's gonna know how to shake hands in no time," Lucy said. "She's nothing if not classy."

"You think somebody related to ole Dally's gonna learn how to be classy?" Two-Bit asked.

"Hey, he's got a certain panache."

"I don't really know what that means, but I'm willin' to wager Dally ain't got it."

Lucy rolled her eyes and moved over to the kitchen to have a word with Sadie. Dally and Elenore stayed out in the living room, and though Two-Bit and Dally wanted to make some kind of conversation, it was still too difficult. They loved each other, in spite of never being able to say it out loud, but Dally wasn't sure he'd regained his respect for Two-Bit yet. It had been years since he tried to make it with Violet and years since Dally had gone to jail for the bogus thing Two-Bit did to those school windows. Still, every time he looked at the guy, he thought about getting his blood on his knuckles to protect his sister or the smallness of that cell – the cell he hadn't earned. He wanted to respect him again, considering he'd just gotten back from a war Dally didn't have to fight because of the baby in his arms. But he just wasn't that big of a man yet.

"Glad you're back," Dally finally muttered.

"Yeah," Two-Bit said. "Yeah, me too."

While Dally debated whether or not he was going to continue the conversation, he quickly realized it didn't matter. Two-Bit was looking up at the tiny figure standing in front of him. Lilly Cade was there, and she wanted a word.

* * *

_July 3, 1968_

_Dear Jane,_

_ I know. You probably hate me for taking so long with this letter. But belive me Jane it aint because I dont love you like crazy. You know I do. Ive thought about almost nothing but you since I got shipped out here. You and my brothers and Sadie Lou. I just couldnt figure out the right thing to say to you. Nothing felt like it was enough. All I still got is I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you. But that aint enough for you. You can love somebody with every part of you and that doesnt make it good enough. I should have more to say. How come I aint got more to say?_

_ I miss you more then I ever thought I would. When I left I knew I would miss you so much it hurt me inside but you got no clue how much it really hurts till you get there. Some nights its like everything's on fire and not in a good way like it is when were together. I dream about you every night. Last night you and me were down at Jay's sharing a choclate shake but then you wanted your own so I got you one. Guess its not so much a dream. More like a memory while I was sleeping cause it really happened. I really miss you Jane. I got a picture of you. I look at it all the time. I wish I could say I was looking at you but I know Im not. I really cant wait to see you again. I know I sound like a broken record. But its all true. I love you and I cant wait to see you. Youre keeping me going Jane._

_ How is Steve doing now that he's back? Im real glad he gets to be back home with all of you but I think theres something you should know if you dont already. Steve aint gonna be the same. He aint gonna be like he was before the war. Hes seen some things. He's done some things. Things he aint gonna want to talk to you about even though he should cause youre his sister and youre gonna love him no matter where he's been. I know Steve aint the biggest chatterbox in the world but dont be suprised if he dont wanna talk to you at all. Ive written back and forth to him since he's been back and he says he wishes he could talk to you. It just hurts him too much. Words dont come out right. Just give him some time. Give him all the time he needs. I know you aint the most pashent person in the world (I cant ever remember how to spell that stupid word). But you gotta pretend to be for him. Do it for me too._

_ By the time youre reading this letter ole Two-Bit's probably back home too. I seen him over here and he still seems like Two-Bit. Cracking jokes and smiling. There's a part of me that thinks he's lyin to himself. I guess I really dont know for sure but what Im trying to say is take your time with him too. Dont think he's just gonna come back around and be his old self again. Hes different now. Were all different now._

_ I love you. I miss you. I cant wait till I see you again. I know this letter aint good enough for you but I didnt want to go another day without sayin something to you. Ill be thinking about you as soon as I send this letter and Ill be thinking about you long after. I aint ever gonna stop. Take care of yourself Jane. I love you. – Sodapop Curtis_

* * *

Jane shoved Soda's letter back into her bag when Steve came back into the living room and took his seat on the couch beside her. She didn't want him to know that Soda wanted her to be delicate with him. Before he left, Steve never thought of himself as a delicate kind of soul. He saw himself as tough – able to fight his own battles and back up somebody else's if they needed him to. And he _was _still that kind of tough. It was just that his toughness was now laced with something else. It wasn't necessarily a delicacy. But it was something that needed to be handled with care. To that point, he'd spent his adolescence getting tough and developing callouses everywhere, even callouses that no one else could see. But rumbles with other greasers and the occasional Soc had nothing on the kinds of battles Steve had seen over the past year. He knew that. He knew that, but he didn't want to admit to it. He didn't want to admit that he needed anyone's help, especially if that _anyone _was his sister. It wasn't that he thought she was weak. It was that when they were kids, he'd done everything in his power to keep her out of trouble. It felt wrong to transfer that responsibility onto her now.

"What ya got there, Janie?" Steve asked. It was the most animated question he'd asked in weeks.

"Huh?" Jane asked. "Oh. It's nothing. Just a grocery list."

"You put it away awful quick for it to be a grocery list."

"That's 'cause there's a surprise for you on it."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. But ya caught me. I was gonna get you some Chips Ahoy cookies."

For the first time since Jane could remember, her brother smiled at her.

"'Cause the old man wouldn't let us have 'em when we were kids?" he asked.

"I'm not sayin' that's the reason, but it's definitely the reason."

Steve laughed a little. Really, it was more like a … mildly amused exhale. That was the only way Jane could conceive of it. All she had now were these little moments where Steve stopped sitting around in his thoughts and acted like Steve. They were few and far between, but Jane took what she could get, especially in Soda's absence. She would try to listen to what he wrote in his letter and not try to press Steve about where he'd been or what he was thinking about. Still, Jane knew herself. She knew herself, and she was bound to say something she shouldn't.

"We could go get 'em now if ya wanted to," Steve said.

Jane was shocked. It was the first time he'd asked Jane to go anywhere with him in years, not just since he'd been back from Vietnam. She looked at him with her eyebrows raised.

"Are you sure you wanna do that?" she asked.

"Yeah. Ain't nothin' like stickin' it to the old man than to eat the cookies he never let us by."

"Not exactly your greatest act of rebellion, man."

"Gimme a break. I'm rusty at this."

Jane smiled. Inside, she was thinking of all the things he missed while he was gone. It wasn't much – their lives weren't as exciting as all the greaser movies from the 50s tried to make them seem. But he had still been part of their daily routine until all of a sudden he wasn't. It felt like Jane had so much to fill him in on even though she knew none of it was terribly exciting. It was just so strange that Steve hadn't been there firsthand when Elenore took her first steps or when Darry got a raise at the roofing company. They were ordinary things. The only extraordinary thing was that Steve hadn't been there to see them. And why was it only bothering Jane now that he was back? She took a breath and told herself to stop asking so many questions. Steve was back, Two-Bit was back, and that was almost enough.

"What about Two-Bit?" Jane asked. "Shouldn't we stay here for him?"

"I think he's kinda busy."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't ya know? Saw him head to Soda's room with Lilly a couple minutes ago. Don't know what they're doin', but I can't imagine they wanna be interrupted. Ya know what I mean?"

"Yes, Steve. I, an adult woman in a committed relationship, know exactly what you mean."

And although she was able to play it cool in front of her cooler older brother, there was a part of Jane that was filled with dread. She remembered all the rumors that swirled around the last time Lilly Cade was all alone in a bedroom with Two-Bit Mathews. Even if Lilly wasn't sixteen anymore, it didn't mean she wasn't going to find herself in a world of pain. She wanted to say something, but she knew whatever she could possibly say was for the birds. Lilly always did what she wanted to. It was one of the many things she didn't have in common with Johnny.

"Well, let's go, then," Steve said, standing up from the couch and extending his arm to his sister to help her out. The Curtis family couch had quite the nasty dip in it, considering they'd had it since Ponyboy was still a little kid. She needed his help. She always needed his help.

"Right," Jane muttered.

"You OK?"

"Would you wanna talk about it if I wasn't?"

"Good point."

In silence, they walked out the door and down the street. They didn't say a word to each other on the whole walk to the grocery store. It was pretty normal.

* * *

Two-Bit didn't have time to think about how bizarre it was that everybody seemed to be using Soda's room as a spare room now that he wasn't living there anymore. In the short time since he'd been back, he'd seen Lucy and Dally use the room as a nursery to change their baby's diaper, Jane use it as a refuge when she needed to cry (though Two-Bit knew better than to tell anyone he'd seen that), and now, Lilly was using it to confront him about that stupid thing he said to her before he got shipped out.

"I'm glad you're back," Lilly said. Her voice was low and thick. It sounded more adult than Two-Bit remembered it. He knew she was more of a grown-up when he left, but in all his memories of her while he was gone, she was just Lilly, Johnny's kid sister who spent way too much time gobbling up celebrity gossip rags like they were her last meal. It was strange to be back with a version of Lilly who seemed a little more sophisticated – well, as sophisticated as a greasy girl like herself could be.

"Ain't much difference between this neighborhood and Vietnam," Two-Bit said. "Just as much gunfire. Gets almost as hot during the summer. At least the trees in Vietnam are prettier to look at than the trees here."

"You're still crackin' jokes," Lilly said, like it was something to admire and not a reflex, a defense mechanism against what he really felt, which was scared and disoriented.

"I'm a wise guy 'cept I got no wisdom."

"Define _wisdom_, I guess."

That actually made him laugh.

"Dammit, Lilly," he said. His voice was genuinely blithe, and he could feel it. "What a reply. You been spendin' too much time around Lucy, from what I hear."

"Lucy's taught me a few good words and phrases here and there. You know I still have yet to find a book she hasn't read?"

"It's gonna take you all your life. Trust me."

Lilly laughed politely, but she was getting irritated. This was the moment she'd been dreaming about for over a year, since Two-Bit told her he was close to falling in love with her before his number came up. She'd been fantasizing about this moment almost constantly, and here they were, wasting their time talking about Lucy Bennet and her reading habits. Didn't this gang have anything better to do than talk about the Bennet-Winstons, or was it all babies and books all the time? Lilly folded her arms, dug her heels into the ground, and decided to change the subject.

"Look, I didn't bring you in here to talk about Lucy," she said. "It'd be weird if I did."

"You ain't wrong about that, Lilly Pad."

_Lilly Pad_. It had been ages since somebody called her that. It wasn't the most creative nickname in the world, and she knew it, even when she was a little girl. But it was the nickname Mr. Curtis gave her. For that reason, she loved it. Mr. Curtis was the only guy in the world who made Lilly feel like she was worth loving, except for Johnny, but it was hard for Lilly to count him because he was just a kid, like her. Back when she was much younger, everybody called her Lilly Pad. It was more of her name than Lilly. After the accident, nobody called her Lilly Pad anymore, especially not when they were anywhere near one of the brothers or Sadie. She understood, though secretly, she always wished someone would revive it. She should have suspected that it would be Two-Bit. He'd always liked the nickname better than the other guys.

"Yeah," Lilly said, still reeling from the sound of her affectionate (and almost paternal) nickname. "Well. I think you know what I wanna talk about."

Two-Bit sighed. "Lilly …"

"I know it's been a long time, and you mighta met somebody over there," Lilly said. "I've talked to people. I've read stuff. I know it happens. But you and me, we've known each other a long time … since we was just kids … and I thought maybe …"

Two-Bit felt his heart begin to break. It wasn't an all-out shatter, though if he took another breath, he'd get closer to that. He had been thinking about Lilly for over a year. Really, he'd been thinking about her since 1965, after that night Katie found her in his bedroom. But it wasn't as simple as Lilly and her magazines wanted to make it. You didn't have a moment with somebody, and then suddenly, you were picking out your wedding cake and deciding where to honeymoon. If it were that simple, he'd have married Kathy or even that Soc girl, Marcia, who knew how to turn a phrase. How could Lilly really stand there and ask him to love her right away? Didn't she know where he had just been?

She didn't. She couldn't. And it wasn't just because she hadn't been there, either, although that was a factor. It was that she was Lilly Cade, and if it wasn't about romance or gossip, she didn't understand. Two-Bit knew it might have been mean to say something like that. It was still true.

"Lilly," he said. His voice was firmer than it had ever been, Lilly presumed. It was certainly the firmest she'd ever heard it. "Listen. I know what I said before I left."

"Yeah, so do I," she said. "It's all I've been thinkin' about since."

"I know. And that's the problem. I ain't … look, it's not like I don't think you're a cool broad. I really do. I always thought that. The thing is … I just said it 'cause I was goin' away."

Lilly was crestfallen. Two-Bit wanted to take everything back, but he knew he couldn't. What he'd said to Lilly was done. Maybe now she'd get off his case and start barking up some other guy's tree.

Of course she wouldn't. Lilly loved Two-Bit. She'd loved him since she was a kid. Two-Bit knew that. He wished he could make himself good enough to love her. He wished he could be a better man, a tougher man, a more serious man. He wished he were the kind of guy who could give Lilly the kind of care she needed. The least he could be was the kind of guy who would tell her all of that to her face. Alas, Two-Bit Mathews wasn't that guy. He wasn't deep. He was just Two-Bit.

"So, you never thought you might have fallen in love with me," Lilly said in a voice that was smaller than she was.

_Of course I could have_, Two-Bit thought. _I already did_.

"When you're in a rush like that, gettin' ready for your whole life to change, you'll say things you ain't ready to say. You just talk without thinkin' first. I know I do that all the time, anyway. But I never would've said that to you if I wasn't afraid of dyin' over there."

"So, the only way you were willing to tell me you could have loved me was over your dead body, then."

"That ain't what I said."

"I know that. But, see, what matters is what ya didn't say. And I heard that pretty fuckin' loud."

"Lilly …"

She was gone before he could say another word. Maybe that was a good thing, too. Anything he said next would have been much worse. It also would have been a lie. There was a part of Two-Bit that wanted nothing more than to run after Lilly Cade and spend the rest of his natural-born life with her. But even Two-Bit knew that was impractical and illogical. It was better for everyone if he just stood still and shut up for the first time since he was born. It was better not to make a mess of things, and with Lilly, he'd be making mess after mess. He had to keep telling himself that much, or else he would run out the door and live to regret it.

* * *

After they grabbed their cookies at the grocery store, the Randle siblings went down for something to eat at Jay's. Now that she'd read Soda's letter, Jane insisted on her own chocolate shake, which she promptly began to dunk her cookies in. She knew it would piss off the wait staff, but she was Jane Randle. She might have been feeling vulnerable, what with missing Sodapop and trying to slip back into a comfortable rhythm with her family – didn't change the fact that she was still Jane Randle, and any problem anybody had with her could be settled out back.

As it turned out, Jane might have actually needed to prepare for a fight. While she tried to enjoy her milkshake and the cookies she bought with her brother, someone came over to their booth and hovered. When Jane looked up, she felt her blood begin to boil. Violet Winston was standing over them.

"Hey, Jane," she said.

"Violet," Jane said. "Surprised you have the guts to show your face around here, considerin' last time we saw each other, I walked away with your guts on my face."

Jane didn't hear it, but Steve snickered. That was a good one. He'd forgotten how tough his little sister really was. It was good to get to know her again.

"That's why I'm comin' back," Violet said. "You won last time, but I wanna settle the score. C'mon. You can even throw the first punch this time. I won't even block it. C'mon."

"You and my sister got into a brawl?" Steve asked. "And she won?"

"Ain't the time, Steve," Violet said. "But 's good to see you're back in one piece."

"Two pieces, actually. Lost a fingernail. That only happened last week at the DX, so I guess, technically, I _was _back in one piece."

"Hmm, seems very clean. I'll make sure not to buy anything if you're workin' behind the register."

"Ain't nobody askin' you to come in."

"I'd say somethin' to that, but it'd be too fuckin' easy."

"Just like you, I hear."

She narrowed her eyes at him, and for a moment, he was afraid. He knew what Dally had done to Two-Bit for trying to make it with Violet, and he and Two-Bit always got on better than the two of them. Who knew what Dally had in store for him for just making casual conversation with her? Of course, that was Dally from back in '65 … back before Soda and Sadie dared him to marry Lucy Bennet. Dally wasn't the same as he was before. It was a lot for Steve to process when he was watching it happen, but now that he was back, there was a part of him that hated Dally for changing his stripes. In a way, he was proud of him. But in a much bigger way, he was jealous of him. To everyone's surprise, Dally got the luxury of growing up in a place that made sense – at a pace that made sense. Dally didn't become a man behind the barrel of a gun (like he should have). He became a man with a beautiful baby in his arms. And that just wasn't fair. Not when Steve had loved Evie since they were just dumb kids. Not when Soda was gone.

And to think – it was just the sight of Violet Winston that triggered all of that.

Violet leaned in closer to Jane, and neither woman had ever wanted a fight as badly as they did in that moment. Unfortunately, Violet wasn't in the business of starting a fight that day. She knew if she got into a fight, Dally would just get pissed at her, and that was exactly what she was trying to avoid.

"I ain't lookin' to fight you," Violet said. "It'd be too easy, anyway. I'm hopin' you can pass down a message to that no-count brother of mine."

"You and Dally ain't gettin' along?" Steve asked, suddenly concerned. He'd always sort of liked Violet Winston. It wasn't like he had a thing for her. He wasn't stupid enough for that. But he never got why Jane hated her so much. Maybe it was because Violet was the only one of the girls in the neighborhood who could have rivaled Jane in her toughness. All of a sudden, he wished he would have been around to see the two of them get into a fight. It would have been excellent, he thought. The brawl of the century, probably.

"He didn't fuckin' invite me to his kid's birthday party," Violet said. "Had to hear about it from Lilly Cade down at the drugstore last fuckin' week. The kid's born in April; I find out in July. I ain't good at math, but I know that's a long time."

"Seven minus four is three," Jane said, speaking through her teeth in a real uppity way that Steve didn't care for. He'd have to ask her what the fuck that was about. "It's been nearly three months since your niece's birthday."

"Yeah, and I'm bettin' you got a nice little invitation to the party," Violet said. "Am I right, or am I right? Looks like I'm right."

"What do you want us to tell Dally? My milkshake is melting, and I'm losin' my patience with you."

"You never had patience with me to begin with, so don't pull that shit, Saint Jane. Anyway, you just tell Dally that if he ain't careful, I'm gonna do somethin' dumb, and he's gonna have to bail me out."

"That's very specific. I'm sure he'll find that real threatening."

Violet tore her eyes away from Jane and looked at an unsuspecting Steve. She winked at him, which he found immediately terrifying. He knew Violet Winston was a bigger flirt than even Angela Shepard, but he never figured she'd so much as raise an eyebrow to him. Not after they were kids together.

"Trust me," Violet said, still looking in Steve's direction. "He'll know what it means."

Before Jane could say another word, Violet took off. She turned to Steve, frustrated as all hell, and asked if he had any idea what Violet was trying to say.

"No clue," Steve said and went back to his own shake.

That, of course, wasn't true.

* * *

Once things calmed down at the Curtis house, Sadie and Johnny went back to their place. They were quiet the whole way home. Johnny thought of Soda's letter from a month earlier and how everyday was another day his number could come up. Sadie thought of how she was jealous that another one of her friends got her brother back when her twin was still freshly gone. At least she'd heard from him. At least she knew he was still missing her, loving her, and thinking of her like he thought of himself. It hardly mattered. She still felt like she was missing an arm.

When the new Cades got into their house, Johnny stood over the sink and did up some of the dishes they'd left in there from the night before. Unsurprisingly, Sadie flopped down on the bed, back first, and looked up at the ceiling. She wondered what it would be like to run away. She also made the mistake of asking that question out loud.

The second he heard Sadie ask that question, he dropped a dish in the sink with a loud thud. Sadie jolted upward and looked her husband square in the eye.

"Johnny!" she said. "What do you think you're doing? We ain't got a ton of money, and we eat with those dishes!"

"To hell with the dishes, Sadie!" Johnny was yelling. It was rare, but Johnny was yelling. Sadie almost found it comforting. She knew she deserved to be yelled at – at least scolded, at least given a talking-to. She was only nineteen, but Darry was right. That didn't matter. She needed to figure out how to be a decent wife – a decent partner – since that was the choice she made. So far, she hadn't been. It was about damn time Johnny said something. It was about damn time Johnny yelled.

"Johnny …" she tried again, softer this time, but he wouldn't soften.

"Listen," he said. His voice was bitter but not hateful. He loved Sadie too much to ever be hateful. "Listen. You remember the first time I asked you for a date? Do you remember that?"

Sadie nodded. She was nonverbal – speechless. She figured that was a good thing. In their whole relationship, she very rarely yielded the floor to Johnny. He never asked for it, and it was her mistake never to step aside, anyway. She was done with that. If she did it for much longer, she could lose him. That was the last thing she wanted.

"You know why I asked you?"

"Because Lucy turned you away."

"It had nothin' to do with Lucy, and you know it. We've _had _this talk, Sadie. I asked you out 'cause I always liked you. 'Cause I always thought you was smart and pretty and that we'd be good together. I thought I was right about that."

"You _are _right about that."

"Yeah, you're damn right I am. We _are _good together. Real, real good. You just ain't been givin' me a chance since we got married, and I think I deserve one."

"Johnny, c'mon. It ain't my fault Soda's number came up on our wedding day."

"And where were you on our wedding night?"

Sadie looked down at the floor. She never even asked Johnny if he cared about her staying with her brothers instead of him. He probably would have understood if she had just thought about him first. That was the thing about getting married at the age of nineteen when you're still focused on being selfish. Selfishness is too big a priority.

"I'm sorry," she said. It was all she could say without sounding phony.

"I know that. I really do. But, Sadie … why do you think I asked you to marry me?"

"That's not even what happened. I asked you if you thought we should get married when we were still in high school, and you said yes. I gave you reasons. I gave you a plan. You agreed to it!"

"It wasn't about a damn plan! I wanted to marry you 'cause I love you. Why do you think I took you out and proposed for real? Huh? Why do you think I got Soda to make us these rings?"

Sadie was quiet. Somewhere inside her, she knew that Johnny loved her – that he'd always loved her, and as more than just Sadie Curtis, the broad who happened to live with all of his buddies. He loved her because he thought she was a beautiful person. But it was still too much for her to comprehend. She still saw an ugly, unlovable duckling each time she looked into the mirror. She still worried that it was only a matter of time before Johnny saw it, too. She bit her lip to keep from crying. Crying would surely send Johnny over the edge, and not in a good way.

"I married you because I love you," Johnny said. He kept saying it in the hopes that Sadie would never forget it. "And I get that I ain't Soda, and I ain't gonna understand you like he does. Nobody can. But that don't mean I ain't here for ya. That don't mean I don't wanna hear how you're feelin' or what ya did at work today or anything else you wanna talk about. You're my favorite person in the whole world."

And all of a sudden, Johnny was Sadie's favorite person in the world, too. She'd always known he loved her, but he'd never been so clear about it – so vocal and so bold. It was all she'd ever really wanted from him. It was something to hold onto, to convince her that it wasn't all an act or a business decision. They married for _love_.

"Soda told me once that he and I gotta work together," Johnny said, though he was careful not to mention that it was in a letter from Vietnam, which he'd received even before Sadie did. "He can tell me about who you were when you was just a little girl; I can tell him about who you are now. You ain't gotta choose between your family and me. Don't ya get it, Sadie? We're all family now. You and me and Pony and Darry … and Soda."

Now, Sadie began to cry, and she didn't even care. She hopped off the bed, ambled toward Johnny, and wrapped him up in her arms. After a moment or two, she pulled slightly away from the embrace and said only the following: "You forgot Lilly."

Johnny let out a little laugh. It was just like Sadie to diffuse the tension like that. It felt nice. That was part of why he loved her so much. She had a delightful little sense of humor, which he hadn't gotten enough of when he was a kid.

"Shoot," he said. "Guess I did."

"I love you," Sadie said. She said it all the time, but something about that moment made it seem truer than ever. He'd finally fought for her. He didn't just stand aside and wait for her to come around. He understood that sometimes, he had to make the first move. And once he did … well, things began to feel more right. She began to feel more like a wife.

"I love you, too," Johnny said.

Sadie grabbed her husband's face and kissed him harder than she'd kissed him in a long time. Although it caught him off guard, Johnny kissed her back with equal force. Their hands were everywhere … nowhere … until Sadie ended up on the bed again, back first.

* * *

_July 14, 1968_

_Dear Dally,_

_ I was actually kinda suprised to get a letter back from you. Figured youd be too busy with Elenore or too busy being cool to write me back. But Im real glad you did cause I think I can help. You say that Lucy seems sad? How sad? And why? What do you think made her feel that way? Try to remember._

* * *

Lucy thought that going grocery shopping was the best way to fool Dally into believing that there was nothing wrong with her. It was still bizarre to her that _she _was the one trying to convince Dallas Winston that she was a perfectly content parent and not the other way around. Nevertheless, it was where they were. She decided to go in on a day and a time that her husband was working so she could prove it to him. Lucy Bennet was no Anna Karenina. She was a full-on June Cleaver to the point of cliché and burning all the books in favor of a nice family television set. That was Dallas Winston's wife, all right – a real Barbara Billingsley.

She should have known he'd never buy it. After all, despite the fact that he made sure to hold his tongue, Dallas Winston loved his wife, and he knew when she was cooking up some bullshit. That day in the grocery store, Lucy was serving up bullshit á la king.

That didn't mean Dally wasn't happy to see her walk through that front door with Elenore on her hip. He was quite pleased. Lucy always looked beautiful, even when she looked exhausted, and he loved it when Elenore called out, "Dad!" as soon as she recognized him from across the way. Lucy kissed her husband quickly, despite the fact that he was on the clock, and did her best to sound like a mother. She thought of how her mother would speak and then decided against that. She didn't want to be like _her _mother. Instead, she'd do her best impression of Lynnie.

"We just need to pick up a few things," Lucy said, smiling at Elenore all the while and hoping it didn't seem over the top. "We thought we'd come by and say hi to you before we started shopping."

"The two of you ain't doin' nothin'," Dally said. "You're the only one who's shopping. Elenore's along for the ride 'cause she can't stay home alone."

"I'm trying to include our daughter in my life."

"And I'm bein' smart. Thought you liked that about me."

Lucy smiled, and this one was for real. Every now and again, she still felt like her regular self – the woman who loved her family and would give up anything if it meant they were OK. The moment passed – all too fleeting.

"Don't be cute," she said.

"Hey, that's my line."

"I'm stealin' it."

"That's my line, too."

Before things got too out of hand (in essence, before Lucy grabbed Dally and screwed his brains out against the bakery section), Lucy grabbed a cart and put Elenore in the front where all the other (better) mothers let their babies sit while they shopped. She gave her husband one more, quick kiss and said, "We'll be back around in a few minutes. And nice vest, handsome."

Dally would have made a comment, but Lucy was gone in a flash. He thought about her while he stocked the shelves. He thought about how he was stocking those shelves for her, but lately, it was like he didn't even know what page she was on. Before, he always knew what page Lucy was on – both in terms of her life and whatever book she was reading at the time. But although he knew she was currently on page sixty-three of _Persuasion _for approximately the sixteenth time in her entire life, he had no idea what was going on inside his wife's head. When he wrote to Soda, he told him that Lucy seemed sad. It was, however, more than just a simple sadness. Dally had seen that before. Hell, he'd _felt _it before, even if he were too proud to admit it. What was going on with Lucy was … he was a little hesitant to call it _emptiness_. Didn't change the fact that that was what it was. Lucy seemed like she was empty, and if she wasn't completely empty, she was on her way to being hollow. He didn't know what brought it on. Things seemed to be going so well for her. She was going into her third year at TU, her grades were incredible, she was talking to her father and his colleagues about going to graduate school (as far as he knew, anyway), and her favorite cousin had just moved to town by a stroke of happy luck and convenience. What did Lucy possibly have to feel empty about? Her life, especially given her marriage to one of the most notorious former JDs in Tulsa, seemed to be quite perfect.

Elsewhere, in the produce aisle, Lucy was pushing her cart and asking herself the same questions. She wished she could tell Dally about it, but she didn't want to scare him. She didn't want to scare him and make him leave. Then she'd _really _be on her own with Elenore, and she didn't know if she was equipped to handle that. Not when she felt like this. Not when the sight of her own daughter felt more like a chore than a joy. She felt herself slipping into Anna Karenina, and she needed to come back. She was not that kind of mother. She was a Victorian mother. She had to be. It was the only way she wouldn't hate herself.

In the midst of all her inner turmoil, she heard her name. At first, she looked down at Elenore, but then she remembered that Elenore would have probably called her _Mama_. That, and Elenore didn't have the voice of a fully-grown, adult man. Lucy was surprised to see a tall guy – almost a hippie but not quite – walking toward her. Suddenly, it clicked, and she knew who it was.

"Randy Adderson," she said.

"That's me," he said.

"Didn't expect to find you in this store, on this part of town."

"Well, let's see. Briefly went all-in as a hippie. Came back a little, but decided to major in English and philosophy with no intention of going to law school. Needless to say, my folks weren't too thrilled about some of my choices."

"Did you get cut off?"

"_Extremely _cut off. Used to make fun of the guys who lived over here. Never figured I'd have to make it my home, too."

Lucy wondered if Dally knew about Randy's new digs. She also wondered why she'd taken at least three classes with the guy at TU and hadn't heard about any of this herself. What was her life now? Finishing her assignments on time so that she could feed Elenore – look after her and be her mother. A worthy existence? It had to be. She loved her baby. She loved her very much.

_Why did it hurt so much to look at this guy she barely knew? What did he have that she didn't?_

"Hey, while I've got you here," Randy said, "you made a lot of really good points about marriage and women in your dad's Jane Austen class this past semester."

"And they weren't terribly offensive to you as a man?"

"Of course not. A bunch of us – men and women – always talked about how smart you are. We were always thinking about asking you to join this club on campus, but we figured with your husband and your baby, you'd be a little busy.

_I'm not busy at all_, Lucy thought. But of course she was busy. Her baby was sitting right there – so patient, so well-behaved. How could she feel like this?

"What club?" Lucy asked.

"Well, TU doesn't have a traditional chapter of SDS," Randy said. "But we do have a kind of unofficial social justice club. We talk about social-justice issues and do some volunteer work around town. It's a pretty great thing to be a part of. If you ever get a free moment when we're back in school in the fall, you should check us out."

Lucy's first instinct was to say that she would probably be too preoccupied with her studies and with Elenore to make time for any extracurricular activities, no matter how worthy the cause. But then Dally's question from a long time ago still rang in her mind.

_Ain't college students supposed to join clubs and shit? Try to change the world?_

"I'll be sure to do that," Lucy said. It was almost like she was spitting it out.

Randy grinned. For the first time in her life, Lucy thought he might be a nice guy and not just a guy who was faking his niceness to get by. Ponyboy always tried to tell her he was all right, but she never believed him until he offered her a way out.

A way out? A way out of what?

She pushed those questions aside, figuring she would cross that bridge when and if she came to it. It was still July, after all. She had until September to figure out what she wanted to do about Randy Adderson's social-justice club.

"Great," Randy said. "Well, I won't keep you."

He looked down at Elenore and then back at Lucy.

"I realized just now that I never learned her name," he said. "What's her name?"

"Elenore."

"Huh. That's pretty."

"Yeah. It is."

She kept thinking that to herself as she pushed the cart through the grocery store and picked up the things she needed – the things she needed to be a mom and to be a wife. Elenore was a very pretty name. She and Dally had even come up with it together, from a certain perspective. They were a loving family. They were a surprising family but a loving family nonetheless. She kept reminding herself of it and reminding herself of it … and then she saw Dally at the front of the store all over again.

"Did you talk to Mr. Super Soc?" he asked.

"He's not a Soc anymore," Lucy said. "He's an English major at TU. We've had a few classes together. I was just being polite."

"You're never polite."

"Well, then, I decided to try something new."

"Huh. What he have to say for himself, anyway? Somethin' stupid, I'll bet."

Lucy wanted to tell Dally all about Randy Adderson's social-justice club and how she wanted to join because she felt like she had no purpose in life other than being his wife and Elenore's mother, but this was not the kind of conversation you had in a grocery store while your husband, known for his temper and aggression, was on the clock. She shook her head and wished he would just forget about it.

"You're right," Lucy said. "It was just something stupid."

Dally nodded. It was much easier that way. As much as he wanted to say that she seemed empty to him … as much as he, if he were a better man, would have asked how he could help … he was still inclined to take the easy route. Maybe it would be the death of him. At least then he'd find out and stop wondering why his luck hadn't yet run out.

He'd write back to Sodapop in the morning.

* * *

**So, this is actually shorter than my average chapters, and it's still long as hell. If you're here, I applaud your tenacity and thank you very sweetly.**

**This chapter was difficult and fun because I got to explore a lot of characters I typically don't explore. I also had no idea that Randy Adderson was going to make an appearance in my canon, but he did. Surprise! It's not a big role, but it's always intimidating when you take on a smaller OG character - from my point of view, anyway. There's a reason the Shepards hardly appear in my fic.**

**Hinton owns **_**The Outsiders**_**. There aren't really any significant literary or cultural texts quoted or referenced here, but I do mention **_**Anna Karenina**_** quite a bit. If you're not familiar with the novel or its eponymous character, a quick Google search about the text/character should put Lucy's struggle into context.**


	7. Chapter 7

In hindsight, Sadie should have known what was going to happen that day. She should have known what they were going to say before they even said it. But Lucy was right. It didn't matter how obvious the signs were. When they tell you, it's always a surprise. It's always terrifying. It's always unplanned.

After nine days of feeling ill and out of sorts, Sadie finally went to see a doctor. By the grace of God, she and Johnny got health insurance, so she wasn't exactly paying through the nose to get herself checked out. Usually, she would have waited three or four days just to find herself healed by the power of ginger ale, but after a week, nothing was working. She couldn't even keep the ginger ale down. In fact, it was beginning to taste foreign – almost like she didn't want it, in spite of the fact that she used to just drink it for the taste. Soda always gave her hell about that. He said ginger ale was an old lady's drink. But Sadie couldn't afford to think about Soda. Thinking about him made her even sicker.

Once the doctor said those words (_You're pregnant._), Sadie really wished she'd anticipated it better. She wanted Johnny to be there when she found out. Since that night he'd almost yelled at her about how much he loved her, they'd been closer than ever. They spent every moment they could together, just talking, being best friends who were also in love. She still didn't feel that heart-pounding, over-the-moon feeling Lucy claimed to feel when she was with Dally, but she figured that was OK. Dally was a hothead, despite his attempts to play it cool, so everything he did was always going to burn hotly and brightly. Johnny had always been more even-tempered … quieter, at the very least. He adored Sadie as much as Dally adored Lucy, but he'd never be loud about it. He'd always be quiet and gentle … except for that one night, about a month earlier. Come to think of it, that was probably the night Sadie got pregnant.

She decided not to waste any time, and when Johnny arrived back at their house that evening, she would tell him. It wouldn't be difficult. They'd been talking for long about having a baby, and that first truly passionate night they spent together had to have been the (albeit subconscious) culmination. Johnny would probably be even less surprised than Sadie was to hear the news out of the doctor's mouth. He knew what he was doing, and in a way, so did she. This wasn't like when Dally knocked Lucy up on a night they were feeling emotionally fragile. Sadie and Johnny wanted to have a baby.

Sadie realized there was a big difference between being pregnant and having a baby. She considered herself quite the feminist, and as a feminist, she knew there was a line. But she didn't know it so personally and intimately until it was happening to her. When it came down to it, Sadie could handle being pregnant. She could handle the nausea and the swollen ankles and the intense need to pee every ten minutes. After all, she'd seen Lucy go through it, and she survived. Sadie had grown up on the East Side, and she could handle anything, including pregnancy. But having a baby was evidently different. That was a person Sadie and Johnny would have to look after and do right by for the rest of their lives. Even after the kid turned eighteen, Sadie knew she would be the kind of mom who still tried to help her kid as much as she could. That was just her way. It was very clear, then, that she was Frances Curtis's only daughter.

Could Sadie handle having a baby? She needed to, of course, and she needed to adjust quickly. It was August, and the baby would be there in April. April – about a month before Soda was slated to return home. But Sadie still couldn't think about Soda or else she'd puke up even more than the morning sickness allowed her to. She sighed, thinking about how awful it was going to be to tell Soda about her pregnancy through a letter. All she wanted was to see _all _of the faces her brothers were bound to make when she told them. Thinking about her brothers' reactions still wasn't an effective answer to her real problem: Was she ready to have a baby? Was it really what she wanted out of life?

The questions could have led Sadie to spiral, but she didn't need to. She didn't even have the time. As soon as Johnny walked through the front door, and Sadie saw his beautiful dark eyes, she knew she wanted a baby. She knew she could handle one. There was, as it turned out, nothing she wanted more than a little baby with Johnny Cade's eyes. That would be the sweetest baby she ever saw.

"Hey, Sadie," Johnny said. He furrowed his brow and smiled a little. He'd never seen Sadie with such an expression on her face before. She looked happy, but she was crying, too. It was a strange expression; yet, Johnny noticed he felt a little relief. Though Sadie had tears in her eyes, the smile on her face let him know there was nothing wrong. The smile on her face let him know that Sodapop was OK.

"What's that look about?"

Sadie laughed and ran at her husband, flinging her arms around his neck in a way she'd never quite done before. Johnny chuckled out of sheer surprise and asked her, again, what had gotten into her.

"Guess what?" Sadie finally said.

But Johnny didn't have to guess. He looked at Sadie – at _his wife _– a little bit longer, and he knew. As he held her, he felt proud. He was proud of Sadie, and he was proud of himself. It might have been bad to think, but it was true. When Johnny realized it was his turn to be a father, he was proud of himself for being happy about it. He was proud that he had learned, somewhere, how to be a good man.

* * *

_August 15, 1968_

_Dear Sadie Lou,_

_ I can barely belive it! I mean I can belive it. I knew you werent no virgin for quite a long time. Longer then I wish I could admit but we got a tiny house and we all heard things we shouldnt have heard. But a baby. Sadie Lou! A baby! I can hardly belive how lucky I am. When I get back home Im gonna have a goddaughter to see again and a whole new niece or nephew, too. I didnt know how to spell niece, so I asked my friend Mikey if he knew. He did. He reminds me of you and Pony. He said he was going to major in English at college if hed been able to afford it. I told him thats what Lucy's doing and probably Pony too. I think he was jealous. I guess I dont blame him. He reads that book of poems Lucy gave me before I left. Do you think you could ask her to get us another one? I could ask her but Dally says she's going through a hard time and I dont wanna bother her. Do you know anything about that?_

_ Im rambling. Im forgetting the whole point of this letter. Youre having a BABY! I cant believe it. I thought out of all us kids the first one to have a baby would be Darry since he's the oldest (but not the most handsome. Thats me, and you should tell him I said it.). Sadie Lou, Im so proud of you. I know it sounds silly to be proud of a lady for having a baby but it's true. It reminds me that we aint kids no more. Were … were something else. I wouldnt call us grown-ups, either, but were something. And I think youre doing a better job of growing up then me._

_ You know I never been too crazy about being an adult. I never liked all the responsibilities Mom and Dad had. I REALLY didnt like watching Darry pick up all the slack after they died. But that dont mean I dont realize that growing up is important. Its something you gotta do. I gotta do it some time even if I dont want to. It seems so hard. But you … you got it down pat don't ya? Youre married and youre having a baby. I can hardly belive it._

_ I didnt mean to make this all about me, Sadie Lou. I know you understand that cause youre always understanding me. Like nobody else. Not Darry or Pony or Steve or even Jane but you can't tell her that. Something tells me she already knows. I really am happy to hear youre having a baby. I cant wait to see you again and I cant wait to meet the baby. You know what would be real nice? If the baby's got your eyes. Our eyes. Dad's eyes. I dont know. Im sure the kid will look more like Johnny but if something of Dad's passed through … that'd be real tough dont ya think?_

_ I miss you and love you so much. Cant wait to see you again. Take care of yourself OK? – Sodapop Curtis_

* * *

"Well?"

Lucy looked up from _Anna Karenina _and furrowed her brow at Dally, who was standing over her, glowering with disapproval. It was the first time she'd ever seen him look like that. Of course she'd seen him angry, but this was different. He was angry _with her _about something _she did _(or didn't do).

"What?"

"I asked you where Elenore's blanket was. I'm tryin' to put her down for her nap, and she ain't havin' any part of our sheets."

Lucy shook her head as though to remind herself that this was her life. For a moment, she'd managed to forget that she was still Lucy Bennet, wife to Dallas Winston, mother to Elenore, student of English literature at the University of Tulsa … all of that seemed unreal. For a moment, she had allowed herself to slip into the book she was reading, the same as she'd been able to do before she realized how she felt about Dally. Granted, it wasn't the _best _idea to slip into the life of Anna Karenina, but it was something. It was somewhere other than her life, which was becoming monotonous. Worst of all, Lucy hated herself for feeling like her life was monotonous.

Wasn't this supposed to be the greatest joy of a woman's (a person's) life? Wasn't she supposed to get high on raising her beautiful baby girl and being a mother? That was what she told Sadie when she and Johnny ran into Great Books with their news (months earlier than Lucy's mother would have preferred). And at times, Lucy really did feel that joy. When Elenore laughed and smiled, Lucy's heart broke a thousand times because she knew she'd never love anyone or anything that much in her life. She never knew she was capable of such love until she held Elenore in her arms, recognized her as her own, and named her. Lucy wasn't filled with emptiness. She wasn't numb. She knew that from now on, everything in her life would revolve around Elenore Winston. And she was grateful. She was humbled and honored that she got to be the mother of such an amazing little girl. That didn't change the fact that there was part of Lucy … whispery but still present … that wondered if this was all there was to her life. She wondered if she would ever accomplish anything else. She wondered if she even deserved to do anything else.

It was all too easy for Lucy to slip back into a memory from the months before she had Elenore. She was a few months pregnant, and though her body didn't show it, the whole neighborhood (and the _other side of town_) knew it to be true. It was scandalous to everyone within a certain radius. No young girl had ever stayed in town after getting knocked up before. Then again, no young girl from the East Side had ever been married for nearly a year before she got knocked up. And _again_, no young girl from the East Side had ever been knocked up by her husband, notorious Dallas Winston, before. Lucy Bennet was the talk of the town, and she hated it.

She especially hated it one day when she was buying some groceries for dinner. Her mother insisted that now that she was pregnant, she was going to need to cook for her family. Lucy tried to laugh it off, arguing that Dally didn't expect or desire his wife to cook for him, but Mrs. Bennet objected. She claimed that if there was one thing Dally needed in his life, it was someone to care about where he got his next meal. He'd never had that before, she reminded her daughter. Lucy let out a deflated laugh and reminded her mother that the last thing she wanted to do was play a mother to her husband. Mrs. Bennet said it wasn't about that. And for as smart as Lucy wanted to be, she had to admit she wasn't quite sure what her mother was getting at. It had been a long time, and she still wasn't certain.

But that day at the grocery store, she was in the produce aisle, trying to decide which vegetable Dally might hate the least, when she heard a trio of girls from her high school in the next aisle over – all Socs. Two of them had names that Lucy had already forgotten. One of them was Cherry Valance. It took Lucy a minute to completely figure it out, but at last, she did. The girls were talking about her.

"That was _definitely _her," one of the Soc girls said. "Her lips are so red, you can see them coming from a mile away."

"That's what got her into trouble, you know," the other girl said. "Same with that girl Sodapop Curtis was dating a while back. When you dress like that, you're easy to get into."

"Come on," Cherry said. There was something in her voice … something Lucy couldn't place, but it certainly wasn't spite. "I don't think it's a good idea to talk about Lucy that way."

"Why not?"

"She's a person, and she has feelings, too. Besides, she's right there."

"Cherry, I don't understand how you can be so nice to someone who loved to snap at you in English class. I remember those days. She was downright cruel to you!"

"She wasn't cruel. I mean, I suppose … at the time, I thought she was … but the more I think about it, the more I realize that Lucy's just really … she's really _passionate _about the subject she loves. You know? Can't we be fair to someone's passion?"

"The only _passion _of hers I want to talk about is her passion for Dallas Winston's …"

The other two girls erupted into a chorus of giggles. Lucy rolled her eyes at the cacophony. She'd always said that if a girl couldn't say _penis _(or any of its cruder derivatives), then she wasn't ready to be having sex. It was a shame, Lucy thought, that she recognized those girls' voices and knew that she'd seen them in a couple of Socs' cars on Saturday nights before. They were more cars than she'd ever parked in, and yet, Lucy was the slut. It didn't make sense; then again, it was adolescence.

"Oh, come on," Cherry said. "They're married. You can't expect them to be chaste if they're married. That's the whole point."

"I don't understand how you can stand here and defend her like that. I didn't think you even liked her."

"It doesn't matter whether or not I like her. What matters is I don't think there's anything wrong with her marriage or her … _having a baby_." Cherry lowered her voice for the last three words. Though in her heart she believed there was nothing wrong with Lucy Bennet being pregnant at nineteen, she knew that the people standing around her did, and they still mattered to her.

"Well, I think she had it coming to her," one of the other girls said. She was the nastier of the two, Lucy decided. "It goes to show that if you think you're the smartest one in the class, enjoy it while it lasts because you're not going to college. You're on the fast track to feeding and changing a baby all night long."

Lucy wanted to barge out from behind the next aisle and scream at the Soc girls (except for Cherry Valance, which felt so odd), but she didn't. She stayed hidden, slumping her shoulders, wishing … wishing something would happen. She didn't know what, but she wished for something.

And before she knew it, that was exactly what she was doing – feeding and changing a baby all night long. She had gone to college and was still on track to graduate in '70, but it felt … it felt emptier, maybe, than it could have felt. She hated herself for thinking of that. But this was not the way it was supposed to go. She was supposed to focus entirely on her academics. She was supposed to read every book at least twice before she went to lecture to discuss it. She was supposed to know which doctoral programs were most receptive to female applicants, especially those female applicants with a now-tenured parent in the field. This was supposed to be Lucy's time to be selfish. That's what her father always told her. The Winstons had other plans. And for as often as Lucy thanked God she had Dally and Elenore in her life, there was a part of her that wished they would just cut her a break. Still, those Soc girls were right. Lucy didn't deserve a break. She hadn't earned one. She was a mother, and mothers could never rest.

"Lucy," Dally said (but more like snarled).

"What?"

"Where the fuck's the blanket, man?"

Lucy stood up and grabbed Elenore's favorite blanket. It was almost underneath their bed, exactly where Lucy knew it would be. It wasn't like she was forgetting how to pay attention to Elenore. Elenore was constantly on Lucy's mind. She only wished there could be a second (maybe a few seconds) when she could think about something else. It was too hard to be a mother and a person. It felt wrong to think, but it was how Lucy felt.

She handed the blanket to Dally without even looking at him.

"Thank you," he said, though his voice dripped with cynicism. "What's gotten into you, huh? Took about a decade to get you to wake the fuck up."

"Don't say the _F _word without covering Elenore's ears first," Lucy said. She knew her voice was distant.

"And you care, all of a sudden? You been out of it all day, Bennet. Maybe even longer than that. What the fuck's going on?"

Lucy didn't answer. She couldn't. There was too much she had to say, but it hurt her jaw too much to open it up and speak. Besides, she couldn't imagine that Dallas Winston would understand, anyway.

* * *

Violet Winston walked into Jay's and straight to her usual booth. She was waiting for Dally, who agreed to meet up with her to discuss whatever falling out they'd recently had. In truth, Violet usually understood why she and Dally would fight when they did. Violet usually did something stupid, and Dally would refuse to acknowledge or coddle her stupidity. Sometimes it was the other way around, but not very often. That wasn't to say that Dally never did anything stupid. He was the king of idiocy. The difference was that somehow, in between her father's tongue lashings and cigarette burns while Dally was away, forgetting about her in New York City, Violet had somehow become the more forgiving of the two. She didn't broadcast it, and she wasn't sure if Dally was even conscious of it. But it was true.

After she ordered herself a Coke (and wished she'd slipped her flask under her sleeve to make it harder – alas, she was in a rush and had forgotten), she sat back and waited for her brother to walk through the door. A small part of her hoped that Dally would bring Elenore. Though it went against her overall toughness, Violet had to admit to herself: She was fond of her baby niece. There was something about her that was so smart and so tough. Even Violet Winston had to admire it. But while Violet sipped at her Coke and waited for Dally, she found someone else instead.

"Now, this don't make sense."

Violet looked up from her glass to see that Steve Randle was, regrettably, sliding into the booth across from her. She rolled her eyes and bent her straw backward, just like she wanted to do to Steve Randle's neck. There really wasn't _anything _redeemable about either of the Randle siblings, she thought. Jane was insufferably princess-y, wishing badly she could become a Soc even if she never said so out loud. And Steve was … well, the best way Violet knew how to describe Steve was "Dally Lite." He was every bit as mad at the world as Dally, but Steve didn't get into nearly as much trouble. They were both smarter than their former teachers would have liked to give them credit, and though Steve used his smarts to get away with more things than Dally did, Violet still believed her brother was the smarter of the two. For one thing, he read more books in his free time, although he tried his best to keep that part a secret. But for another thing, Violet thought Dally was smart enough to get busted. If he got busted, then he was more likely to figure out if anyone cared. There was something almost romantic about it.

"What don't make sense?" Violet asked, even though she didn't want to be interested in whatever _Steve Randle _had to say.

"I ain't seen hide nor hair of you since … I don't even remember when. Then, all of a sudden, the last two times I come in here … there's Violet Winston. There you are. It don't make sense."

"I live in town. I could be anywhere, any time."

"Yeah, but you ain't. Not usually, anyway."

"Why are you sittin' here? Don't you know I hate you?"

"Naw, you don't. I thought you hated my sister."

"I do hate her. I also hate you. I just hate her more."

"Ya know, at this point, I don't even remember why it is y'all hate each other so much. Do you remember?"

Violet let out a genuine laugh. Steve looked at her, taken aback. He'd never seen Violet Winston smile like that before – not unless she was going in for the kill. Suddenly, he took a hard swallow and braced himself for imminent death.

"Can't say I do," Violet said, and she wasn't even lying. "I think there was somethin' about a burger when we were little kids. Jane said she would get me one, and then she forgot. Never quite looked at her the same way after that."

"Well, obviously. You beat the shit out of her last year."

"We beat the shit out of each other. Give your sister some credit, please."

Steve almost laughed. He wasn't sure why. He didn't particularly like or dislike Violet Winston, but sometimes, she could be almost sort of funny. She and Dally hadn't really grown up together, though they were enough alike to cause a chuckle or two. Steve thought maybe, depending on the day, Violet might even be able to best her brother in a brawl. He briefly (almost) wondered why he was thinking so much about Violet Winston, a girl he'd always been afraid of and made to dislike because of Jane. He figured it was probably because now that he was home from the war, he realized how small his world really was. He was looking at everybody differently now, even people he never thought of twice before, like Lucy Bennet and Violet Winston. It was bizarre, but it was reality now.

"You waitin' for somebody?" Steve asked.

"It's none of your fuckin' business."

"Ya must be waitin' for Dally, then."

Violet tore her eyes away from Steve and moved her glance toward the door. She stared at it almost longingly, wishing her brother would walk through it at any second. She couldn't deny that she was excited to see him … to get to the bottom of what happened between them when she wasn't looking. Steve called her name, and without looking at him, she answered.

"We're supposed to meet up," Violet said. "But that's it. I ain't tellin' you shit."

"I didn't ask ya to."

"You didn't, but your stupid little face did."

"Ah, c'mon, now. My face might be stupid, but it ain't little. I take pride in my big face."

Violet turned her glance back to Steve just so she could roll her eyes at him. A part of his pride felt almost wounded, but he didn't pay much attention to it. This was just a dumb conversation with Dally's (terrifying) kid sister … his own kid sister's worst enemy. She meant nothing to him. Then again, everything meant something to him now. Now that he was lucky enough to be back home, there was nothing to do but appreciate all the things he hadn't before, like the gum under the chairs at the Dingo and the way Violet Winston always looked like she was going to stab a guy in his guts. He wished Soda were there to appreciate the bizarre things with him. Maybe, he thought, when Soda returned. Steve never gave up hope that Soda would return … not once.

"Well, if Dally don't show," Steve said, getting up from the booth, "you know where to find me?"

"No," Violet said. "Of course I fuckin' don't. I never paid any attention to you."

Steve laughed until he wasn't laughing anymore. He would have typically made a joke about how _of course _he could be found at the Curtis house or down at the DX, hanging out with Sodapop, but then he remembered. None of the jokes worked when Soda was gone. Nothing was a given anymore … not when Soda was gone. He felt his heart jump into his throat, and it was everything Steve Randle could do not to cry. It would have tarnished his toughness right in front of Violet Winston, the pinnacle of toughness in the neighborhood.

"Uh …"

It was all Steve could eke out before Dally, at long last, strutted through the doorway and smoothly made his way over to Violet's booth. He glided past Steve like he never even saw him. Truthfully, he probably _didn't _see Steve. Dally got the worst tunnel vision of all time. If he had his eyes set on something, he went for it, never blinking, afraid someone else would steal the thing he was going for. Once, when Steve brought it up to him, Dally punched him in the face. Steve didn't particularly whine about it, either, which surprised the hell out of all the other guys. Typically, if Steve experienced even a mild inconvenience, he melted down into a puddle of rage. They didn't ask him about it, and Steve was glad of that because he didn't want to have to give his honest answer. Although Steve didn't worship the ground Dally walked on (like Johnny did), it was kind of honor to have Dallas Winston punch you in the face. It meant you were worthy of his time, and if you were worthy of one of the most dangerous hoods in Tulsa and his attention … well, you might be pretty tough yourself. It wasn't like Steve would ever allude to that outside of his own head. Nevertheless, that was his truth. Dallas Winston punched him in the face, and he was about five seconds away from thanking the guy for it.

Dally slid across the booth to face Violet, kicking Steve out of the way without any recognition of the fact that he was there. No, Dallas Winston was on a mission – a mission to make his sister understand what their problem was. Steve Randle couldn't be part of that … not even for a second. He muttered something sarcastic under his breath, which Dally couldn't be bothered to hear or deal with, and he was on his way. As he made his way down the street and to his old home, where his kid sister waited for him, he wondered what made him stop into Jay's in the first place, much less what made him talk to Violet Winston. He figured there was no real answer. Everything was just random, and he needed to understand the smallness of their neighborhood. It used to feel so big before he was forced to feel so small. He wondered if he would ever feel big again and doubted it. He couldn't. For one thing, Soda wasn't home.

After Steve was out of earshot and out of sight, Dally leaned forward in the booth to talk to his sister, whom he hadn't spoken to in weeks – a month, maybe a little more. He hadn't been keeping track, what with Elenore and the way Lucy was being so distant. They used to be completely syncopated. She was the only person in the world with whom Dally really thought he could connect, and now, it seemed like … it almost seemed like she realized who he really was. After all this time, it felt like Lucy was finally waking up.

"Look who decided to show his face," Violet said.

"Don't gimme that shit. I ain't here for you to snap at me."

"That's why you have a wife, ain't it?"

Dally exhaled, though it wasn't quite a sigh. Sighing, he thought, was beneath him. He stared at the table beneath his hands for what felt like forever; finally, he looked up and into his sister's eyes. He knew there was something helpless on his face, both because he felt his expression change and watch Violet go from smug to horrified.

"That's why I ain't been talkin' to ya," Dally said. "That's why I been … I don't fuckin' know, that's why I been distant, I guess."

Violet wrinkled her nose in confusion. Dally was surprised. He never noticed that Violet had their old lady's nose before.

"What are you on about?" she asked. "Lucy ain't lettin' you talk to me? That don't seem like her."

"It ain't really about Lucy. Well, it is, but it ain't … it ain't like that. Lucy's been … different."

"Different like how? She don't read anymore or somethin'?"

"Naw, she reads all the fuckin' time. Too much, if ya ask me. More than she did before we started goin' together."

"Well, to be fair, you never really _went together_. Ya fucked for a couple of weeks, then ya got married."

"Shut up, will ya? I'm tryin' to be honest with you."

"I know, and it's scarin' me shitless, man."

Dally was taken a bit aback. He knew he wasn't the most emotional guy (like Soda), and he definitely wasn't the most sensitive guy (like Soda). But he never thought of himself as dishonest. He never thought he was particularly good at lying or hiding things. Ponyboy Curtis – now there was a kid who could pull the wool over your eyes. In all his days, Dally had seen a shit ton of kids turn their _F _grades into _A _grades, but nobody was more skilled with a red pen than the kid when he didn't do too hot on one of his math tests. Pony was more of a liar than Dally ever could be. He lied for the hell of it. Dally didn't talk too much, but when he did, it was usually the truth. It was never maudlin, but it was always true.

Except for now. Now, he was getting a little maudlin, and he would have been uncomfortable with himself if he didn't love his Elenore so damn much. Dally cared too much about his daughter to hold this in. He was going to talk about it, even if it meant being humiliated in front of Violet, the person in this world he was most afraid of.

"Lucy's been actin' real weird lately," Dally said. "It's like she ain't sure if she belongs here or somethin'. I don't know. Either way, it's like she don't know … it's like she don't know if she's a good mom or somethin'."

"I think she's a good mom. Don't she know a thing about _our _mom? That'll put it in perspective."

"She knows about the old lady. It don't matter. It still seems like … I don't know, I think she thinks she's broken, man. It don't make sense, but I look at her … and I just know."

Violet didn't say anything. She was too surprised to think that Dallas Winston, the brother who left her behind as he ran out of their house and onto a bus headed straight for New York City, could understand another person just by looking at her. She was surprised, but underneath that initial layer of shock was another layer – one of jealousy. All her life, she wished that Dally would understand _her _that way. She wished that he would want to. Instead, he held her at an arm's length, unsure of what to do with her. Violet would never admit it out loud (or even, really, to herself), but it stung to know that Dally didn't want to be involved in her life. That was what she always believed, ever since that night he bolted without telling her where he planned to go. It was the least he could have done.

"What's that got to do with me?" Violet asked.

Dally shook his head, almost as though he didn't want to continue the conversation. In truth, he didn't. But he knew he had to. There was a lot he still owed to his sister. This little bit of honesty and realism was about as much as he could, in that moment, provide. It was the least he could do, and he felt that it was choking him. It was really tough, he thought. He remembered something Soda had said years earlier, about maybe the toughest thing a greasy guy could do was be honest with himself and his buddies about the way he was feeling. Anybody could be cool and pretend like they didn't feel a thing. But there was something strong and tough about admitting when you were over the moon or down in the mouth. At the time, Dally thought that was bullshit. But the longer Soda was away (_away _– there was a euphemism), and the longer Dally and Lucy stayed together, the more he saw that his old friend had a point. He thought about Soda for a little bit longer, and his heart clenched, much to his tough chagrin. Boy, did he ever miss him.

"I been lookin' after Elenore especially careful since Lucy's been out of it," Dally said. "And when I look after her … I don't know, man, it makes me feel bad."

"You feel bad for taking care of your own kid?"

"No, man, that ain't it. It's that if I can do a pretty fuckin' good job takin' care of Elenore now, why didn't I do the same fuckin' thing when we was kids? Why didn't I look after you?"

He broke eye contact with Violet immediately, afraid to talk to her. If he'd been looking, he would see that Violet, herself, was stunned. She always figured Dally didn't care for her enough to take her with him that night he ran out of their old house. She never figured he had regrets. She never figured he may have wanted her to tag along, after all. When they were young, Violet assumed Dally didn't want anything to do with her. It gave her pause (and perhaps even a little joy) to think that all these years, he'd felt differently.

"You were a little kid," Violet said. Her voice was softer than it had probably ever been.

"Ain't no little kids where we come from. Only adults in little bodies."

Violet swallowed hard. It wasn't a good way of saying it, but she knew what he meant.

"Yeah, maybe. But that don't mean you got all your shit together when you're ten or eleven years old. You were thinkin' about protecting yourself, and that's … that's not your fault. We all got a survival instinct, don't we? How do you think I'm still here and not buried in some unmarked ditch?"

Dally didn't say anything. There was nothing he could say. He'd let his sister down, and even though she turned out all right (a survivor of all sorts of shit she didn't deserve), he still left her alone. He was the reason she was so tough – the reason why she felt like she had to beat up Jane Randle. Violet was still trying to prove to Dally that she was worth his love and attention. She might not have realized it, but something told Dally it was still true. Feeling that made everything else that much worse.

"I'm sorry, V," he finally said. "I'm sorry I left you with the old man and his bastard friends. I'm sorry I didn't take you with me or try to find somethin' better for you than what we had. I never … I never would've played that way if I knew what was comin' for me these days. If I'd known I was gonna be a father … if I'd known I was gonna give a damn about my baby … I'd have grabbed you and taken you outta that fuckin' house right away. But I didn't. And I never want to make Elenore feel the way I made you feel when we was kids. I don't want that at all."

Violet snorted. Really, she was on the verge of tears; nonetheless, she didn't want Dally to know that. She still wanted him to think she was tuff and cool. After years of practice, she was pretty good at it.

"What's that got to do with you avoidin' me?" she asked.

"I feel like … by takin' care of Elenore … I'm doin' you wrong all over again. Like I can't get my act together until I got a kid of my own. And I don't want you to see that and … dammit, V, I don't want you to see it and hate me for it. Do you understand that? _Can _you understand that?"

Violet nodded without a word.

"It's in the past," she said. "You ain't gotta worry about leavin' me behind 'cause it's already over. I survived."

"You shouldn't have needed to just survive. Ya should've been safe. I should've …"

"You think livin' on the poorest streets in Brooklyn would have been safe? Dally, man, I still would've been out there tryin' to survive. Only difference is we would've been together."

"Wouldn't you have liked that better, man?"

"It would've been way too hard that way. Lookin' after two bodies when you're just a kid? One of us would have died pretty quickly. Think of it that way. You didn't take me with you; we both survived. Things worked out the way they were supposed to. They always do, don't they?"

Dally didn't say anything. He didn't even nod. He didn't want Violet to think that he could be optimistic. Even though they were attempting to be honest with one another, Dally still wanted Violet to idolize him for his coolness. He was afraid, now, that she wouldn't – that she would see right through him and patronize him for being a big wuss.

"We got by," Violet said. "We scraped by, sure. But we survived. Don't you think that's kinda cool?"

Dally nodded. In the end, there was only one thing he could say: "'I am very hungry and tired … I have walked a long way. I have been walking these seven days."

Violet scrunched up her nose again.

"What the fuck was that?"

"It's from a book by Charles Dickens. _Oliver Twist._ Lucy's dad made me read it back when we were stayin' with her folks because he said it kinda reminded him of me. Not all of it did, but that part had its moments for me. They made me think of you and me, growin' up in such different places. But we kinda felt the same way, didn't we?"

Violet made no words or motions. She didn't want to ruin the moment, so they sat there in silence, wondering who would make the next move. To both of their surprises, it wasn't Dally.

"How the fuck do you know some old book?"

Dally shook his head and laughed little. Suddenly, Violet realized her mistake.

"Right … you read it to impress Lucy. You think you still do? Impress her, I mean?"

Several minutes passed before Dally felt comfortable enough to answer his sister's question.

"I don't know, V," he said. "It's gettin' harder and harder to figure her out."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. It was a letter from Vietnam (from Soda) that he'd been too afraid to open since he answered that first letter back. Now, he thought, seemed like just as good a time as any to open it up and figure it out.

* * *

When Sadie and Johnny told Ponyboy he was going to be an uncle, Ponyboy's first instinct was to panic. It wasn't that he thought he was "unprepared to be an uncle." He knew there was no such thing. What he feared, however, was that he would no longer be the center of his siblings' attention. For so many years, even before their parents' accident, Ponyboy had been the person his three elder siblings cared for the most. Darry made sure he was doing well in school, Soda made sure he was doing well inside of his heart, and Sadie … well, Sadie taught him to read, so he supposed he was in the biggest debt to her. He was used to being the person they thought about most, or so he believed. Now that Sadie and Johnny were going to have a baby, Ponyboy knew that everything would shift. For one thing, his siblings wouldn't pay nearly as much attention to him as they once did. For another, it was just another thing he would have to go through without Soda by his side.

He knew that was selfish, but it didn't change the way he felt. If Soda were at home, with him, they could talk about this baby thing together. They could talk about how it meant that all of a sudden, the gang was old. They could talk about how before long, no one would care about staying out late at the Dingo or hanging out at Jay's until someone finally kicked them the hell out. They wouldn't be able to have fun anymore. Slowly (yet surely), they would all begin to forget one another – not entirely, but they would forget the way it used to be when they were young.

Of course, they were _still _young. Ponyboy knew that. Lucy and Dally might have been married with a baby, and Johnny and Sadie might have been on the fast track toward the same lifestyle. That didn't change the fact that Lucy still wasn't quite old enough to buy liquor, and Sadie was barely old enough to cast a vote in any election. Their ages didn't matter. Their experiences did. And once half the gang was married with babies, then there wouldn't be a gang anymore. The idea of disbanding because of stupid, silly marriages and stupid, silly babies was enough to make Ponyboy want to vomit. He wouldn't, of course, because he knew it was cruel to be jealous of something that was supposed to be joyous. But he couldn't make himself feel very much joy at all. He was too focused on what it all meant for him, and he was too selfish to realize that his sister's pregnancy really didn't have anything to do with him at all.

He walked around with those heavy feelings of confusion, jealousy, and guilt a few nights after Sadie broke the news of her pregnancy before he ran right into Carrie Shepard, the girl he wasn't seeing but found important enough to share books and a few kisses with. When she saw him, she bit down on her lip and tucked a piece of her long, dark hair behind her ear. If Ponyboy hadn't known better, he would have thought she was blushing at the sight of him.

"Hey, Ponyboy," she said. "What's the matter? You look like you been through it."

Ponyboy shrugged and scuffed his feet beneath the pavement – his signature move.

"I have been," he said. "Sadie just told me and Darry that she's havin' a baby."

Instantly, he regretted telling Carrie about Sadie's pregnancy. It should have been Sadie's secret to tell, and he took it away from her. He tried not to feel too badly about it. After all, Sodapop was supposed to be Ponyboy's cool and handsome older brother, but Sadie had stolen him away even before Ponyboy was born. It felt like some sort of revenge, even though he knew that was quite unfair.

"That's great news, don't ya think?" Carrie asked.

Ponyboy shook his head.

"She's havin' a baby with my best friend. I'm gonna lose them both on one day – as soon as that baby comes out, everybody forgets about me."

"Sadie won't forget about you. She can't. You're her kid brother; she can't just shake you off like that."

"She's been shakin' me off like that all our lives. She likes Darry and Soda better than me. Always has. Always will."

"Well, you ever think maybe that's _your _doing?"

Ponyboy frowned. It was rare that Carrie Shepard ever said _anything _to him that wasn't an overly inflated compliment. To hear her nearly disparage him was a surprise.

"Don't gimme that look," Carrie said. "Let me ask you somethin', Pony. How long have you thought that Sadie don't like you as much as Darry and Soda?"

"I don't know," Ponyboy muttered. "Somethin' like forever, I guess."

"Yeah. Somethin' like forever. Ya think that maybe rubbed off on her? Ya think maybe _she _thinks you don't want no part of her?"

Ponyboy, naturally, didn't respond. For as smart as he was, he never thought of it that way. All his life, he believed Sadie didn't like him. He assumed she thought he was the annoying kid brother who tagged along and tried to steal her friends away by asking them to play with him if he felt lonely. He assumed she didn't like the bond he thought he shared with Soda because they were both boys, and as a girl, Sadie would never understand. But maybe he had been cold to her … maybe he'd been cold to her for too long. He sighed and thought of how lonely it would be if Sadie and Johnny had this baby, and he wasn't warm about it. It would be terrible not to have a relationship with his new niece or nephew, which was what he was setting up by being so cold to Sadie, his own big sister.

"Sadie's more sensitive than you realize," Carrie said. "She's tough, but you gotta remember. She's Soda's twin sister. And if Soda can be a bawl baby when he wants to be, so can she. They're more alike than they're different."

Ponyboy almost let that last sentence make him angry, but he resisted. It wasn't Sadie's fault that she and Soda had been born twins. It wasn't either of their faults that they were closer than most siblings because of that. But for as long as he could remember, it was easy for Ponyboy to get jealous and angry with Sadie. It was easier to place the blame on someone rather than accept the fact that there was no one to blame. He just wished Sadie would listen to him every now and then. He wished she would listen to Jane. She wasn't the only one who missed Sodapop, but damn, if she didn't act like it.

"You didn't hear the way she was talkin' when she told me and Darry," Ponyboy said. "It should've been all about her and Johnny and their new family, but it wasn't. Somehow, Sadie Lou found a way to make it all about Soda, even though he wasn't even there. You should've seen the look on Johnny's face. D'you think it's fair for a husband to be jealous of his brother-in-law? 'Cause I don't."

"I think your siblings have a lot of work to do while they grow up and change," Carrie said. "Things are pretty weird for them right now. They're forced to be apart, and because they're forced, all they want to be is together. It makes sense she feels like part of her is missing right now."

"But ya should've seen the look on Johnny's face. It was like he knew he shouldn't have married Sadie if she cares more about her own brother than she cares about her husband."

"You wanna know what I think?"

"What?"

"I don't think you're upset about Sadie and Soda or Sadie and Johnny. I don't think you're worried that when Sadie has this baby, then everyone will forget about you and how you're starting college. I don't think that's it at all."

"Well, if it ain't everything you just said, I don't know what else it could be."

And then Carrie Shepard, the odd duck in the Shepard household, the least outgoing and the most bookish, did something that Ponyboy Curtis never would have predicted. She inched closer and closer to him, firmly planted her hands on his shoulders, and kissed his lips with a force Ponyboy hadn't felt since that Valentine's Day they shared. When they broke apart, he stared at Carrie, befuddled and a little bit bewitched. Why did he refuse to date her, again?

"I think you've got some unfinished business to take care of, and it's scarin' the hell outta you."

Although Ponyboy tried to open his mouth and respond – maybe even apologize for all of his whining and to ask Carrie what he could do to make it up to her, to Sadie, and to Johnny – she waved goodbye and took off without another word.

He blinked. Carrie Shepard was right. He _did _have quite a lot of unfinished business he needed to take care of. But he wasn't going to take care of any of it without her.

* * *

_August 26, 1968_

_Dear Steve,_

_ I been worried about you man. Its been weeks and you aint been writing me. Jane told me something happened between you and Evie after you got back but when I didnt hear it from you I wasnt sure if I should ever ask. But Im tired of waiting so Im the one reaching out to you. What happened? I know Im far away but if theres anything I can do to help you I will. I hope you know I will._

* * *

Normally, Lucy would have placed a call home or to her parents' house or to the grocery store to talk to Dally. She would have told someone where she was going. It was the first day of fall classes at TU, and though she typically took the bus straight home after she was done, on that day, she didn't. She had something to do, and she didn't need Dally (or Elenore) to know about it.

In her American Poetry class earlier that morning, Randy Adderson stood up and made another general announcement about his club on campus – the club where students got together and discussed issues of social justice and what they could do, as students, to remedy them. On any other day, Lucy likely wouldn't have been interested. But then she thought of Sadie and how she was going to have to go through her pregnancy without Soda, her twin and the other half of herself, and Lucy remembered how unfair that really was. The war in Vietnam (which they didn't even call a war – what a rhetorical strategy _that _was) was unfair, and Soda didn't need to be part of it. He wasn't a soldier. Most of those boys weren't. She thought about Dally and how when he'd been drafted, he was allowed out of it because Lucy got pregnant with Elenore, and even though Lucy was eternally grateful to have him at her side, she knew it wasn't fair that Soda didn't get the same privileges. Soda should be home. Steve and Two-Bit deserved to enjoy their time now that they were home. They didn't deserve to be haunted by awful memories they never asked to make. Her friends were not pawns. She wanted someone to know that. Maybe Randy Adderson's on-campus club wasn't going to make a real difference in the world. Lucy knew it wouldn't. But to be able to talk to people about the political issues she cared about without being laughed out of the room (as the guys usually would) … there had to be value in that. She decided, then and there, that she would attend his meeting that day.

As she walked to the meeting place, she wondered if maybe she should try to find a payphone. Dally would like to know that she was safe, and Elenore would want to hear that her mother loved and missed her, like she did everyday she was at school. But she didn't stop. She didn't search. Lucy knew that if she paused for a second, she would head straight back to the apartment, and she wouldn't learn anything. She would still be asking herself if that was all there was to life.

She walked on, trying not to picture the look on Dally's face when she waltzed through the front door, later than late.

* * *

**Another chapter that's shorter than usual but still long as long can be. Also, if anyone out there is actually reading this fic, I'm sorry it took over a month for me to update! Just as before, I'm in the process of moving, I'm in a new (though slightly **_**less **_**new now) relationship, and I work longer, more demanding hours in the summer than I do during the academic year. I hope this chapter was, in some way or another, satisfactory. Balancing all of these characters is **_**really **_**difficult!**

**Hinton owns **_**The Outsiders**_**. I own the laptop on which I wrote this chapter, and I'm glad of it.**


	8. Chapter 8

It wasn't long before the Powers That Be caught some sort of wind about Sadie and Johnny's happy news. About a month after they discovered Sadie was pregnant, Johnny's draft card came in the mail. On the day he went to the draft board for his own 3-A, Sadie met up with Lucy down at Great Books to talk about it.

"It's the strangest feeling, Lucy," Sadie said. "I know they're gonna give Johnny the exemption, and he's gonna come home right away. And we're gonna have a baby, and everything's gonna be fine."

Lucy nodded, though Sadie could tell it was absentminded, half-hearted. It was hard for Lucy, as the mother of a one-and-a-half-year-old baby, to ever think that everything was _fine _once you were a parent. It wasn't that she didn't love Elenore. She did. She had to keep reminding herself of that because if she didn't, she would feel like the devil's daughter. The difference between her life before Elenore and her life now that Elenore was in it was that she never stopped worrying about her. All of her thoughts were consumed with her child. Was her child hungry? Was her child tired? Would her child prefer to go to the park today, or would she like to stay home and play with the books? There was no room for Lucy Bennet in Lucy Bennet's own head, except for the brief moments when Dally came home from work or wherever he was and took care of Elenore by himself. Nothing was _fine _about that. It was bizarre. Lucy didn't like or dislike it, she thought. She was confused by it. What happened to her?

"I don't know," Sadie said. "It feels … it's still scary, you know? It's scary to know that they called on Johnny, even though he's not going. It feels like …"

And although it was the last thing she wanted to do (the very thing she told herself to avoid when she left her house and made her way to see Lucy and Elenore), Sadie broke down crying right in the middle of the store.

Because she was a baby, Elenore followed suit and began to wail as well. However, Lucy simply stood there, letting the cries wash over her, wishing she couldn't really hear them. It was a strange feeling. Part of her really wanted to reach out and take care of her daughter and her best friend, two of the people she loved most in the whole world. But a different part (and, regrettably, a larger part) wanted to run away. In that moment, Lucy didn't want to live for anyone else. She wanted to be free.

_Free_. Now, there was a word. She didn't like the sound of it, so she scraped at her tongue with her teeth, almost drawing blood. Even though she hadn't actually said the word, she wanted to make herself suffer as though she had. After all the reading she did about marriages and motherhood, she knew the truth. Those things weren't about joy and happiness and love. They were about suffering. Never again in her life would Lucy Bennet feel like she wasn't absolutely suffering with love for her child – with love for her husband. At first, it hadn't felt much different – just what she was expected to do and, in part, really wanted to do. Now, it was different. Now, she wanted to feel like she could breathe without someone asking her why she was breathing that way.

Sadie, of course, was too consumed with her own potential grief that she couldn't take the time to notice Lucy's detachment from reality – her detachment from her child and her life. She kept crying. She cried to the point where she didn't know if she understood words anymore. After about a minute of purging all her pent-up feelings: anxiety, grief, exhaustion, and just _so much more grief_, Sadie finally spoke again.

"It feels like the night of our wedding all over again, somehow," Sadie said. Her voice was quieter than ever. She still felt guilty.

Those words were enough to pull Lucy out of her haziness and into her usual self. She rushed to Sadie's side and grabbed her hand as if to keep her from falling through the floor. Sadie was glad of it, too. She really felt like she might fall down into a pit and never come out. If only she could choose one way to feel and focus on that for a little while. Instead, she was inundated with terrible, contradictory feelings of guilt and joy. They made her want to throw up. It was the strangest thing. When Lucy had been pregnant with Elenore, she threw up all the time because her hormones were changing and making her sick – very technical and very practical. For Sadie, it was more than that. It felt wrong, but there was no one to talk to about it because the minute she admitted it, then it would only get worse. Even greasers wanted women to be good mothers.

"I don't know what the right thing to do is, ever," Sadie said. She was still sobbing, but feeling Lucy's hand in hers was enough to allow her to speak again. "I used to feel like I was smart like you and like Pony. But I'm … I don't make any sense anymore. I feel like I'm … I don't know, I feel like I'm broken or something. I know that's said too much, but …"

"No," Lucy interrupted Sadie. "No, you're not broken."

Lucy spoke with a voice she hoped was strong enough to convince the both of them.

"I feel like it," Sadie said. Her voice still trembled. "I left Johnny to be with my _twin brother _on the night we got _married_. That's not what's supposed to happen."

"No, not traditionally. But you have to admit. There were extenuating circumstances. Soda got his draft card that night. You were distraught. We all were."

"Yeah, but I didn't really know Soda had just gotten his draft card. I just … I sat up in bed, and I could just feel that something was wrong with him. I got up from my husband's side and _left him. _To go be with _my brother_."

"I know. But he's your twin. You have a relationship with Soda that none of us could ever understand or ever have. But it's something we all respect. Johnny's no different. He's your husband. He gets that there's something between twins that no one else can ever really be part of."

Sadie nodded, but she still felt hollow. She thought about Johnny and how his whole face lit up when she told him they were going to have a baby. At the time, she figured it was because they'd been talking about having children since, essentially, the minute they started going steady in high school. But now, nothing felt right. It was September 1968, and Sadie was three weeks away from her twentieth birthday – _twenty_. When she got married and knocked up, she was nineteen, and that felt so young. When Lucy turned nineteen, it felt like she was a real adult. Now that Sadie was nineteen, she felt like a baby … buckling legs when she tried to take a step and all.

She kept thinking about Johnny and Soda … Soda and Johnny. She wasn't sure how to order their names anymore – wasn't sure which one was more important than the other. Darry would have told her there didn't need to be a hierarchy. He was always saying stuff like that so that Pony didn't feel like he wasn't loved by each and every one of his siblings and friends. It wasn't bullshit, either. When Darry said that, he really meant it. But when Sadie thought it about her husband and her twin, it felt like total bullshit. There had to be a choice. She just didn't know how to make it. Every time she chose one of them over the other, it felt wrong. She was bogged down by guilt and confusion, and there didn't seem to be a way out.

She palmed her stomach (still flat) and exhaled a bit. There _was _a way out. Unfortunately, at the time, it had no choice but to stay inside.

"I should be happy," Sadie said. "I should be happy that I'm pregnant, and I should be happy that Johnny gets to stay and be our baby's daddy. It's what we wanted."

"Yeah," Lucy said. Her voice was calm, and because her voice was calm, Elenore finally felt comfortable enough to calm down, too. Poor Lucy. She was so loved by her child … such a caring mother … that she didn't even notice it.

"And yet, I can't help thinking. What if Jane had gotten pregnant, too? Soda would still be here, and nothing would have changed. We'd all be happy, trying to raise our new babies and find a new place as … I don't know, as real grown-up people, I guess. Like Darry."

Lucy nodded. She didn't know what else to do. She walked over to Elenore and picked her up on pure instinct. In truth, she didn't even realize she was doing it.

"And what if Jane had gotten pregnant, and I hadn't? Then Soda would be here, and Johnny would be there. How would I … how would I breathe if this were happening in reverse? And how do I even breathe now? Why am I not happy enough that my husband's staying with me instead of going to Vietnam?"

Out of pure instinct (though she did not realize it was a maternal instinct, as she was convinced she did not have one, after all), Lucy leaned down and kissed Sadie on top of her head as she shook and cried.

"Because it'd be nice to have everybody here at the same time," Lucy said. "Better than nice. It feels like you have a limb missing. I know that. I don't know it the same way you do, but I can try to imagine the way you feel."

"I just wish something felt _right_."

"I know. But let me ask you something."

"What?"

Elenore let out a yawn, and Lucy kissed her on the cheek. She really was a sweet baby. She got so affectionate when she was tired. It was one of the sweetest things about her. And when Lucy would walk into the living room and find Elenore asleep on her father's chest, and Dally was asleep after a long day of working at that stupid grocery store … that was the best. It was the best, but it was all there was.

"Does the baby feel right?" Lucy asked. "Like, are you absolutely sure you want to be a mom?"

Tearfully, Sadie sniffed and nodded. She felt so much younger than nineteen.

"Yeah," Sadie said. "It's the one thing that does feel right. It's the only thing that's felt right in a long time."

Lucy kissed Sadie's head one more time. It was one of those times the girls really wished they were sisters. Then again, they were.

"Then listen to that," Lucy said. "You're lucky you feel that way."

Elenore gurgled something under her breath, and Lucy's heart felt full and hollow at the same time. She couldn't put it into words, but it was certainly a feeling – a strong one at that.

* * *

_September 15, 1968_

_Dear Ponyboy,_

_ Can you belive me and Sadie are gonna be 20 years old in three weeks? I cant. What I really cant belive is this is the frist birthday Im gonna spend apart from her. We never been apart for a birthday. And I know I missed your birthday back in July and I ain't never missed one of yours before. Not since you been born. But its different with Sadie. You know that. I was there when Mom had you and brought you home from the hospital. I came out the same time as Sadie. Of course shell remind you that she's a few minutes older. I try not to take that so personal._

_ Im writing to you about this insted of Sadie because it hurts too much to write to her, even if it is our birthday and our thing. Ill write to her later but right now every time I write "Dear Sadie" at the top of a peice of paper it feels all wrong inside. I can hardly make it past that first curve in the letter _S_. Plus I thought you might understand some of the stuff I been feeling when I write you guys these letters and such. Its like being away at summer camp when nobody asked you if you wanted to be there. The food is gross most of the time, you gotta sleep real close to people you dont even know, and every now and then, you find out somebody broke his leg or went missing or drowned or something. I keep looking for a way out but everything's against the law. I know I ain't above doing handstands with Two-Bit down the street and I ain't above a rumble (or 2 or 3 or even 13). But escaping from a war zone … that dont seem like the best choice I could make. Do it?_

_ I thought if anybody would understand that itd be you. I tried to explain it to my pal Mikey but I think he was too tired to really listen to me. You would like Mikey. Hes a lot like you. When he's done with his tour here he's gonna try to work his way through college after all. He's from the same place Lucy's from. You know, the place she lived before she moved to Tulsa. I'd say it out loud if I were there but I cant spell it. Id ask Mikey but I ain't sure where he is right now. Maybe Ill ask Lucy to write it down in a letter so I can look at it and copy it down if I ever need to. I miss Lucy. I miss Elenore. I even miss ole Dally. Just dont tell him that. I know he still ain't big on showing too many people he cares about them. Im glad he shows it to Elenore though. Shes the kind of kid who really deserves to be loved. All kids do. I just happen to know this one. I know I'll feel exactly the same way about Sadie and Johnny's baby when they bring it home. Im real sad I wont be there when Sadie has the baby but I know Im gonna make it home for the kid's frist birthday party. I hope Darry's still up for making the cake. I know Im rambling Pony but you dont know how lonely it is when you got nowhere to be but inside your head. I have no idea how you stay quite for as long as you do but I think I admire you for it more now._

_ Do me a couple of favors after you get this letter ya got me? First thing I want you to do is to remind Darry he better be going after that girl he likes, Lucy's cousin. I dont remember her name. Youre in college now and he dont have to worry about you the same way he did when you were 13. Next thing I want you to do is take Carrie Shepard out on a real date. She deserves it. You been stringing her along since 1965 and maybe even a little bit before then. Shes put up with your shit a long time and I know you care about her more then you let her know. So let her know. I dont know why ya keep dragging your feet on this one but I promise you. There ain't nothing as good as loving a woman who loves you back. I cant explain it beyond that. I just know its true. Dad would have told ya the same thing._

_ Last thing I want you to do is give Sadie a hug. Dont tell her its from me cause it aint. Not all the way anyway. I been reading all the letters she sends even if I cant always reply to them in time or as much as shed like. I know the two of you been having a hard time tryin to get along and understand each other. I hate that. I hate that me and Sadie went about playing the middle men all wrong and I hate that you guys seem to be fighting over who loves their family more. Truth is Pony it ain't a contest when it's love and I think you know that. Nobody misses or loves anybody more than anybody else. Sadie loves you just as much as I do, as much as Darry does, and as much as you love either of us. It ain't a contest. I know you love our sister. You always have. Dont forget to remind her that you love her and that you see her. I think she needs to know she's got family on her side what with me being here and whatnot. Dont let her forget how much you love her Pony. She deserves to know she's got her brothers on her side. If Lucy's letters are telling the truth then being knocked up can be lonely and wierd for a woman. I dont want Sadie to feel like we dont understand. So be nicer to her. Youll regret it if you ain't._

_ I miss you like crazy Pony. I think about you every second of everyday and cant wait to be back home messing shit up with you and Darry and everybody. Things just ain't the same without waking up in the same house as you guys. But Ill be back. Ill be back and things will go back to the way they were before. That's what I keep telling myself cause I dont know what else to think about. I miss you. Love you. Cant wait to see you. Maybe the next few months will just fly on by. Heres hoping. Or praying. Whichever one you do. – Sodapop Curtis_

* * *

Darry was equal parts thrilled and disheartened that Ponyboy was staying at home and commuting as a student at TU. Part of him – the part that was paternal even before he had paternity thrust upon him – was glad he didn't have to say goodbye to his baby brother. It was enough to watch him walk across that stage on the night of his high-school graduation. He couldn't believe life had allowed Ponyboy to get so old. He was almost outgrowing his name, Darry thought. Maybe Dad hadn't been thinking about raising a boy into a man when he put _boy _right in his name. Alas, it was his name, and perhaps it would always manage to suit him. Darry was happy that when he woke up in the morning, Ponyboy would be there. He'd still come toddling out of his room in the morning, stumbling his way through the narrow, messy hallway at the Curtis house in the hopes of finding a delicious breakfast on the kitchen table. Darry chuckled to himself at the visual of his baby brother in the morning. He really was too old to walk and waddle like a little kid, but it was sweet all the same.

Another part of Darry wished that Ponyboy had gotten a dorm room on the university's campus. They couldn't have afforded it even if they sold all their limbs, but Darry wondered if maybe Ponyboy would be happier if he didn't have to rush to and from everyday, all day. He wondered if Ponyboy wouldn't make as many friends in college once they found out he commuted from his home to the school. Darry felt like a fool. He'd spent years assuring Ponyboy that even though he didn't have a lot of cool friends when he was in high school, he had a family who loved and cared for him like no other family. He'd spent years assuring the kid that when he finally made it to college, he would find a few friends. College was a place where people like Ponyboy Curtis were supposed to thrive – smart, creative, and vaguely quiet. He should have been every professor's favorite student and the guy all the girls wished would look their way. But, instead, he was at home. And the life Darry had worked so hard for Ponyboy to have just a part of … it still couldn't happen.

He shared his feelings and worries about Ponyboy with Lynnie Jones one afternoon when he had the day off, and she was arriving home from work. On the days Darry didn't work, he volunteered to babysit Lynnie's son, Jimmy, while Lynnie was teaching. Though he was only twenty-three, and Pony still technically lived at home, Darry couldn't help but feel like an empty nester. On the days of the week he got to spend chasing little Jimmy around the house and the backyard, he felt like he still mattered to somebody … like somebody still needed him.

Lynnie asked Darry how Ponyboy was doing on a late afternoon when he was leaving the house for an evening class, and she was entering the house to take Jimmy back home. Darry let out a long sigh and put his face in his hands.

"I don't know," he said. "It's only been a few weeks, and he likes his classes a whole lot. He's taking a writing class, and he says he's the best student in it."

"I'm not surprised," Lynnie said. "You said he's been working on a novel since he was thirteen or fourteen?"

"Yeah. He always reminds me it ain't a novel. Novels are fiction. This one's about the four of us – me and him and the twins – and how we got along after our folks died. He's written it and rewritten it somethin' like eighty times. Feels that way, anyway. I don't know why he keeps changin' it. I thought it was good the first time he was finished with it."

"Your brother's probably just a perfectionist. Lucy used to be like that before she moved here and started hanging around your sister."

"You think my sister's a bum or somethin'?"

"No. I think your sister knows how to live a balanced life. My cousin, on the other hand … high-strung doesn't even begin to describe it."

"You never thought she'd end up married to a hood like Dallas Winston, did ya?"

Lynnie shook her head and laughed a little.

"No. I never really thought about my cousin getting married, but when we were kids, I guess I always figured she'd end up with … well, I thought she'd end up with a novelist, if we're being honest."

"A little late for that."

"Yes, a bit. But I'm glad she found Dally."

"I think that's the first time anybody's said that about him."

"It probably is, don't you think? But I mean it. I see the way he looks at her and the way he treats her … the way he treats Elenore. I love my cousin more than almost anybody in the world, and he treats her the way she deserves to be treated. I know he loves her even if he hasn't said it."

"He knows how to love people. He just don't know how to put it into words."

"Yeah. Well, I think Lucy found the right man. And to think – the businessman I married turned out to be the low-life."

Darry cocked his eyebrows at Lynnie, suddenly more interested in the conversation. He knew Lynnie had been married and divorced, of course, but he'd never asked her much about it. It wasn't that he was uninterested. He wanted to know, and he wanted to know because the more time they spent together, the more he liked her. He just didn't want to talk about anything that made her feel uncomfortable. He should have known, of course. Lynnie was gunning to talk to him about pretty much anything. There was something trustworthy about his face. Surely, Darry Curtis was handsome – handsomer than either of his brothers, or so Lynnie thought, even though she'd never actually met Sodapop – but it wasn't just that he was nice to look at. There was something kind, patient, and firmly understanding about Darry that none of the other guys had. It was so much different than Big Jim. It was what Lynnie had been looking for since she was young and simply never figured she would find.

"Sorry," she said, off Darry's awkward look. "I guess I should've known that wasn't the best thing to talk about."

"It's OK." He was quiet for a moment, then: "Lucy said he left you?"

Lynnie let out a deflated laugh. It wasn't anything to be ashamed of. She knew that. When a man leaves a woman who's never done anything to hurt him, it's never her fault. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that she didn't really matter. Like she wasn't really worth loving for more than a few minutes when everything seems rosy. That was the problem with Lynnie, or so Lynnie believed. She went out of her way to make everything sunshine, flowers, and bright pink. It was always fun for a while, but then the guy would get tired of it. She wondered how someone as stoic and strong as Darry really felt about her high laugh and bright-pink persona. She wondered how long he would be able to handle it before his own cynicism slipped in, too.

"Yeah, he left me," Lynnie said. "He left me for his secretary. I don't think you could get more cliché than that."

"Probably not," Darry said, trying to remember what _cliché _meant. It was a word he heard sometimes, but it wasn't one he frequently used.

"He's a dick, though," Darry added, which surprised Lynnie. She didn't think Darry cared for much profanity. "For leavin' you."

She stared at him like she wasn't sure if she wanted to run away or jump his bones. Fortunately, standing there, absolutely frozen, was a decent middle ground.

"Yeah," Lynnie said. "That's what my folks and Lucy always tell me."

"Well, it's true. I can't imagine anybody wantin' to be with somebody other than you."

Lynnie blushed and continued to stare at Darry. She felt very young. When she was growing up, twenty-three seemed terribly ancient … like she should have it all figured out by then. And there were those moments she thought she'd figured out how to be a woman. She knew how to cook a few meals, and she didn't think she was such a bad mom. But there were other moments, like when a guy as handsome and dependable as Darry Curtis, told her there was no one better than her, when she felt as though she never left high school.

"You're just being nice," Lynnie said. "There's plenty of women …"

"No. There's not."

There was that blush again. Jimmy tugged on Lynnie's dress and begged her to go home, and while she normally would have given into her son's demands, she asked him to be patient while she talked to Darry for another minute or two. Jimmy clicked his tongue loudly and rolled his eyes.

"Why don't you just marry Darry, Mommy?" Jimmy asked. Evidently, he had picked up his new sarcasm from his cousin Lucy in the short time they'd been in Tulsa. "You're always talking about him or talking to him. Marry him!"

This time, Lynnie's blush was out of humiliation. She told Jimmy to sit down and flip through the picture book she had in her bag, and he reluctantly agreed. As Jimmy made his way back to the couch, Lynnie leaned in closer to Darry.

"I'm really sorry about him," Lynnie said, her voice shaky. "I don't know where he gets some of his crazy ideas, but it's not me. I don't really …"

"It's OK," Darry said. "You can ask Pony. I talk about you all the time, too."

"Does he ask you if you wanna marry me?"

"Yeah, actually. He does."

"Oh, right. Please. He's way too old for that."

"If you think Pony's too old to tease his brother for having a crush on a pretty girl who just moved to town, then it's clear you don't know him too well."

Lynnie's jaw nearly hit the floor. Of course, she'd previously _speculated _that Darry Curtis might have a tiny bit of a crush on her. She caught him fixing his hair whenever they were anywhere near each other, and he watched Jimmy on his days off, free of charge. But to hear him actually admit it – in a way that was so different from the first day she found out Big Jim was interested in her – that was the best. If her cheeks were rose-colored before, they were certainly scarlet now.

"Oh," she finally said. "I didn't think … I like you, too."

"No kiddin'," Darry joked. "I figured it out last spring at Elenore's birthday party. With the cake. You remember, don't ya?"

Lynnie nodded. She always was a little awkward around boys. Apparently, now that she was mostly a woman, it hadn't changed.

"You wanna go out some time?" Darry asked. "I work tomorrow, but I'm off at five. We could grab an early dinner. I know you don't wanna be away from Jimmy too long."

"Yeah, of course I want to … but if I'm out, and you're out, who's going to watch Jimmy?"

"I'll ask my sister Sadie. She's got a baby on the way. She needs the practice."

"Right. Right. That's a good idea. You're smart! Has anyone ever told you that you're smart?"

Darry shrugged. He thought back to a time shortly before his parents' accident when they'd just decided he wouldn't be able to afford college, even with the various athletic scholarships he'd received in high school. Steve Randle had had the nerve to call him all brawn and no brain directly to his face. It had been years, and Darry still wasn't over that. His grades in school had been fine – more than fine, actually. They weren't as strong as Ponyboy's or even Sadie's, but they were strong. None of it mattered. When people looked at him, they still saw that poor sucker who couldn't afford to get smarter. They saw the poor sucker who chose his brothers and sister over himself. If he had it to do all over again, he'd still choose the three of them. That wasn't a question. There were, of course, days he wished he could have had it all – his folks, his siblings, a football legacy, and a college degree. He'd have graduated by now if he'd been able to go. He looked at Lynnie, who was still smiling at him. She was sure cute. It was more than cute, of course, but Darry didn't know if he had time to think of all the words to describe her.

"Sometimes," he finally said. "You're the first in awhile."

"Well, then, I guess I have to be sure I tell you more often. You deserve to hear it."

Now, it was Darry's turn to blush.

"I ain't gonna tell Pony where I'm goin'," he said. "He'll just find a way to tease me for it. That's what happened last time I tried to go on a date. I felt so bad, I could barely walk out the door."

"Did you? Walk out the door, I mean?"

"Yeah, I made it out the door, but I never made it to the date."

"Why?"

When Darry offered no reply, Lynnie cleared her throat. She shouldn't have pushed. She really shouldn't have pushed. Yet, she was pushy. That was one of the reasons Big Jim claimed to leave her. He didn't like how pushy she was. Before he said that to her, she never thought of herself that way, but now … now, she was always watching her own back, like she didn't trust herself to behave well. It was exhausting.

"I'll make it to this one," he said. "You wanna meet here around six? Pony's got another evening class. He won't even be around to make fun of me."

Lynnie nodded. She tried not to reveal all of her enthusiasm, but inside, she felt like she might rip in half. This was all she wanted since she'd moved into town – this and to make a safe, loving home for her son. Still, part of her had always hoped that safe, loving home would include Darry Curtis. Perhaps it was far too early to tell if he would want to stick around, but Lynnie Jones was nothing if not hopeful. It was the reason Big Jim had fallen in love with her. It was the reason that eventually drove him away.

"It's a date."

Neither of them had any idea how long it had been since the other had been able to say something like that. They were both too proud and awkward to admit it.

"Oh, and by the way," Lynnie said before she went to grab Jimmy from the couch. "I don't think you have to worry about Ponyboy not getting the real college experience."

"What do you mean?" Darry asked.

Lynnie shrugged.

"Everybody's college experience is real to them," she said. "I lived away from home, and I have a certain set of stories. Lucy's married with a baby, and she's got her own stories, too. Pony will find his way. We all do."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're smart?"

Lynnie grinned. It was all too easy to grin in front of Darry Curtis.

"All the time."

* * *

Jane sat in a booth at Jay's, waiting for the person she invited for dinner. As she waited, she made sure she could see the door from where she sat in the booth. She had a chill running up and down her spine – a chill she only ever felt when she felt Violet Winston was nearby. However, Violet Winston never walked through the front door. The only person who did was the one person Jane invited to meet with her.

Lilly Cade made her way through the door and slid into the booth across from Jane. She wore a sweet smile on her face, but Jane could tell she was a bit confused as to why she was there. Though Jane and Lilly certainly loved each other because they grew up in the same gang (or adjacent to it, anyway), neither of them was sure they had ever spent time together – just the two of them. When they were younger, Jane spent a lot of time with Sadie alone, and Lilly spent most of her time with Katie Mathews, even to that day. It was odd to think that Jane would want to meet with Lilly and Lilly alone. She accepted it, of course, but that didn't mean she understood.

"You're probably wonderin' why I even asked you to meet me here," Jane said.

"Ya read my mind," Lilly said. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing. And everything."

"I don't know what that means."

Jane sighed. It was hard for her to put her feelings into words because every time she thought she had a thought, she felt too guilty to really express it. But she decided it would feel much better to let it go and get it off her chest. She had spent too many months trying to be quiet and polite. That wasn't the version of Jane she needed to be. Now, she needed to be tough Jane – angry Jane. She figured, given the circumstances, the only person who would ever understand was sweet Lilly.

"The two of us are in an odd position, ain't we?" Jane finally said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Soda's in Vietnam. Johnny got his draft card in the mail not too long ago."

"But he ain't goin'. He can't. Sadie's knocked up, and last we checked, he's the father."

"Yeah, I know. That's not exactly what I'm … look, we're in a weird place with the same person right now. As far as I can see, anyway."

"I'm not following you, Jane."

"Sadie!"

"I'm Lilly."

"I know … I know you're Lilly, Lilly. We're both in an interesting spot with Sadie."

"I still don't know what you mean. I ain't mad at Sadie. I'm happy for her. She and Johnny are havin' a baby. That baby's gonna be my niece or nephew. It's gonna be _yours_, too, once Soda gets back and marries ya."

Jane shook her head. Maybe trying to talk to the infuriatingly chipper Lilly Cade wasn't the best idea. Still, it felt like the only avenue she could explore.

"Listen to me for a second, will ya?" Jane asked. "Do you ever feel like … like you ain't important to Johnny anymore now that he's married to Sadie?"

Lilly shook her head, which crushed Jane's spirits. She didn't know what she had been hoping for, but it certainly wasn't this. At the time, Jane was indescribably angry with Sadie for getting pregnant. She knew it was cruel, but that didn't change anything. Jane was jealous that Sadie got to keep her husband, and Jane had to give up her boyfriend. She was jealous that when Soda eventually returned home, his attention would almost undoubtedly be more focused on Sadie and her brand-new baby than on Jane, the woman he said he wanted to marry. A large part of her hoped that Lilly felt almost the same way – like she was losing her brother's love to Sadie. Maybe it wasn't a perfect fit. Jane knew it wasn't. It still didn't stop her from attempting to force a parallel and a connection where it didn't belong. Without Soda (and with Steve growing more and more distant each day), Jane still felt like she didn't belong anywhere.

"It ain't like that for us," Lilly said. "I know Johnny's gotta change now that he's married and about to be a daddy. That don't mean he stops carin' about me and the rest of us. I know that."

"But don't you feel like Sadie's getting all the attention? Ain't you a little jealous?"

Lilly shook her head, but this time, she looked almost angry. It scared the hell out of Jane. The last time she'd seen Lilly look truly angry was about three years earlier, when she was fifteen, and Lucy turned down a date with Johnny. That hadn't ended very well, or so the rumor mill liked to say. Jane wondered how badly this one might turn out.

"I'd have to be a damn fool to be jealous of Sadie Curtis right now," Lilly said.

"How come?"

"I got to keep my brother. He ain't goin' to war, and it's because she's gonna have his baby. Sadie, though … she had to lose hers. At least for the rest of his tour. And that's worse for Sadie 'cause she's a twin."

Jane looked down at the tabletop. She was so tired of hearing that. What made being a twin so fucking special? Soda tried to explain it when they were together, but it never made sense. It just sounded like having a sibling to Jane. It sounded like how she and Steve could have been before he forgot about her. At least, she hoped they could have been like that. She wasn't really sure what Steve wanted anymore. She wasn't sure if she ever knew him at all.

"Sometimes I feel like Sadie steals everything from me," Jane said. She regretted each word as it came out of her mouth, but she couldn't take any of them back. Fortunately, Lilly didn't seem to grimace too much as she listened. "She steals Soda when I'm tryin' to be with him because they're twins. Twins are impossible to separate even if ya try, I guess. And then she steals Johnny."

"How did she steal my brother from you?"

"It ain't … it's the concept of the thing. I lost my boyfriend to the draft, and Sadie gets to keep her husband. Even when one of us is supposed to lose, she's the one who's winnin'."

Lilly slowly shook her head in disapproval. Somewhat surprised, Jane cocked her brow.

"What?" she asked. "You don't get that?"

"I think Sadie's losin' a lot more right now than you realize. Sure, she's married to my brother, and they got a baby on the way. But how would you feel if your right arm was in Vietnam with no way of getting back for a year? It's different than havin' a brother over there, Jane. I know it is. Johnny ain't even goin', but I know if he did, it wouldn't be the same as what Soda and Sadie feel now that they're apart."

"Soda _and _Sadie?"

Lilly nodded. She was more somber than usual – probably because earlier that day, Two-Bit had shot down another one of her propositions.

"Well, yeah," Lilly said. "Soda's probably missing Sadie somethin' awful, too. You didn't think he was grateful bein' away from her, did ya?"

Jane hung her head. Yes. There was a part of her that thought maybe Soda was grateful not to have to be around Sadie all the time. Although Jane loved Sadie, even in moments as ugly as these moments felt, she knew there was something _off _about her connection with Soda. She never wanted to let go. Worse yet, Sadie seemed to need Soda in a way that Jane didn't think (or always hoped) Soda didn't need Sadie. She thought maybe, even if he was going through hell, that maybe the separation would, ultimately, prove helpful for the twins and their wicked codependency. But as Lilly stared her down across the table, guilt and shame in her deep brown eyes, Jane knew. It wasn't that simple. Sodapop, contrary to popular belief, was never that simple.

"Look, I know you must be goin' through a lot of confusing feelings right now," Lilly said. "Your man's gone, and Sadie's gets to stay. At the same time, you're wonderin' if your man misses you more than he misses his sister."

Jane didn't say anything. There was nothing she could say.

"But let me tell ya," Lilly said. "I know Soda pretty well, if I do say so myself. And I know how much he loves people – how much he loves all of us. He might love all of us real different, but he don't love any one of us _more _than another one. It's just as impossible for him to be away from you as it is for him to be away from Sadie right now. You don't gotta turn it into a contest."

"But I feel like _Sadie's _turning it into a contest."

"Yeah, maybe she is. That don't make it right."

Lilly heard the sound of the doorbell behind her. Out of instinct, she craned her neck to see the person who walked in. To her horror, it was Two-Bit. She covered her face with her hand and wished she could disappear.

"Oh, shit," she said. "I haven't talked to him in weeks. I don't think I could pretend to play nice now."

"Well, he's gonna see us and come right over," Jane said. "You can't really stop him."

"I know I can't stop him, but I can stop me."

She grabbed a menu from the table and threw it in front of her face. Before she fled, she hissed something at Jane about giving the twins a break, but Jane was only halfway listening. As Lilly scurried out of the booth, Two-Bit approached Jane.

"That Lilly?" he asked, pointing in the direction of a smallish, anxious blur.

Jane nodded. Her throat hurt too much to speak. She never expected Lilly Cade to have so many wise things to say. If anything, she thought Lilly would be the best person to share a petty complaint with. But she was wrong. Lilly was growing up. So, then, why did Jane still feel the same? Why did she feel so young?

Two-Bit chuckled. He sounded almost impressed, which Jane typically would have taken interest in. Unfortunately for the both of them, Jane wasn't feeling up to her usual enthusiasm.

"She's somethin' else," he said. He narrowed his eyes to get a better look at the girl in front of him.

"You OK, Janie? You don't look like yourself."

Jane nodded again. It was so easy.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm OK. Just feelin' a little overwhelmed."

"You wanna talk about it? I'm supposed to be meetin' up with your brother, but he ain't here yet."

"I'm OK, Two-Bit. Really. I'm just gonna … I'm gonna run to the bathroom."

Yes. That was it. That would be Jane's grand escape. Before Two-Bit could say anything, Jane leapt from her seat and took off like lightning for the bathroom.

As it turned out, that chill she felt up and down her spine wasn't inaccurate. Violet Winston was coming out of the bathroom at the exact moment Jane Randle attempted to enter.

Violet chuckled menacingly when she saw Jane. She hadn't seen her since their big fight years earlier, before Elenore Winston was even born. It wasn't that Violet was in the mood for beating Jane Randle to a pulp. It would be too easy. It was that getting a rise out of her was far too easy. It was much too fun.

"Well, look who it is," Violet said. "I was beginning to think I finally made you afraid of me."

"Funny, I was beginning to think the same thing of you."

"I ain't afraid of anything."

"Then we have something in common after all."

Violet held back another chuckle. This one would have been honest. For as much as she hated Jane Randle, there was something she couldn't help but admire – almost _like _– in her spirit.

"I can't believe ya didn't see me before," Violet said.

"When?"

"When you were talkin' to Johnny's sister. I heard everything ya said. Honestly, did ya really think Sodapop Curtis was gonna miss you more than his sister? Those two were basically joined at the hip."

"Me and Soda have a relationship, too. But I don't have to prove that."

"Looks to me like ya do."

Jane swallowed hard. She hated it when Violet Winston said something that was almost smart.

"Listen here, Jane. I don't like ya."

"And here I thought we were growin' warm."

"I don't like ya. I hate ya, even. But listen to me. You're never gonna get anywhere tryin' to make other people responsible for what's wrong with you."

"There's nothing …"

"Nothin' wrong with you? You wish. There's a shit ton wrong with you, just like there's a shit ton wrong with me and Soda and everybody else ya know. It ain't useful to blame other people for your own bullshit. Soda's gone, but it ain't Sadie's fault."

Jane didn't say anything. She was too busy thinking about how Violet Winston, a notorious dropout, could have come up with something that smart. What Jane didn't know was that for months now, Violet had been reliving that night in the kitchen when she was eight years old – that night Dally took off for New York City and hadn't asked her to come with him. She was tired of blaming Dally for being angry. He'd done what he thought he could when he was ten years old. Violet's anger with him was her own problem. She didn't know why it was suddenly so important for her to teach Jane Randle the same lesson. In a way, she supposed she hated Jane Randle so much that there was a part of her that couldn't help but love her. Lucy always said _love _and _hate _were virtually the same word. Violet never understood that until she looked directly at the woman who'd always been her nemesis. She wanted to make her hurt, but she knew that if Jane hurt, then she would hurt, too. Maybe it didn't make sense. Maybe it didn't need to.

"You know that, too," Violet said. "You're the one who finished high school. I'm the idiot who dropped out at sixteen."

"Nobody said that," Jane said, unsure of why she felt the need to defend Violet Winston.

"Yeah, but you were thinkin' it. Everybody does. Everybody except my brainy sister-in-law. Nothin' in this whole world makes any fuckin' sense."

They were quiet for a long time, but neither woman made the attempt to move away from one another.

"What are you even doing here?" Jane asked. "I haven't seen you since …"

"Since you walked away from me within an inch of your life? Yeah, it was a grand old time for me, too. I'm meetin' somebody. Well. He don't know I'm meetin' him, but he ain't gonna put up a fight once he gets a look at me."

"Very confident."

"Ya grow up with nobody lookin' after you, you learn how to be."

She looked around the restaurant, and her eyes suddenly lit up.

"That's my cue," she said. "I gotta go. Now, you get in that bathroom before ya piss yourself."

Jane rolled her eyes as Violet cackled like the witch she (often) was.

"But I gotta admit. That's a great thing to picture."

She moved past Jane, and Jane pushed her way into the bathroom. As she entered one of the stalls, she thought. That was the worst thing about running into Violet Winston. It wasn't that there was always the possibility the two of them would get into a near-fatal brawl, though Jane didn't love that. It wasn't that Violet liked to one-up Jane or bully her, though that wasn't any fun. It was that every time she came up against Violet, Jane had to confront the truth.

They were too much alike.

And the thought was enough to scare the hell out of both of them.

* * *

_September 22, 1968_

_Dear Two-Bit,_

_ I hope your doing OK. I really miss you. Things were a little better when you were over here. I didnt feel as alone. Now its like nobody can really see me. Its almost kind of funny. Back at home, at the DX, it was like everybody saw me even when I didnt want them too. Now that Im here its like Im just another number. I hate it. I hate not havin a name. Is that how you felt when you were over here? Like at home everybody wants to see you and here your jokes but here its like you dont matter? Like as a person? I hope you did so that I have somebody to talk to about it. I never knew how hard it would be to be invisble._

_ Hey do you know why Steve hasnt written me back in awhile? Sadie says he's doin fine but I havent heard from him. Thats enough to make a guy freak out. Is he OK? Are you? I feel like I need to know._

* * *

Shortly before Lynnie was to drop Jimmy off at the new Cade house (and shortly before Sadie and Johnny were instructed never to breathe a word of Darry's date to Ponyboy, who would give him the third degree before he was anywhere near ready), Sadie was getting the house ready. She didn't have a lot of child-friendly toys or games yet. She was hoping somebody would come through and help her out with that stuff closer to the baby's due date. Luckily, she did have one book that she could read to Jimmy when he arrived. It was _Blueberries for Sal_, the book she used to teach Pony how to read when he was about Jimmy's age. All day before Jimmy was supposed to be dropped off, Sadie was feeling nothing but confident. She knew she could look after the little boy and make him love her. Kids always loved Sadie. Well, at the very least, Elenore Winston always loved Sadie. She figured this Jimmy kid couldn't be much different.

But in the final hour before Lynnie and Darry were supposed to drop the kid off, Sadie began to panic. She held _Blueberries for Sal _in her hand and began to sob. Jimmy wouldn't want to read this stupid book. It was too old, and the pages were yellowing. They smelled too musty. Ponyboy had spit on one of the pages when he was little, and there was still a smeared mark from it. This was not the kind of book you gave to a child on the first occasion of babysitting him. Sadie felt ineffectual – stupid.

In the middle of her sobbing, Johnny came through the door. He swooped her up, trying not to panic. Then again, it was Johnny, and to panic was always his instinct. He worried she was going to tell him she lost the baby. When she assured him that wasn't the problem, he felt a bit of relief in his veins, but it wasn't much. He loved Sadie Curtis too much to ever feel relieved while she was in any kind of pain. He hoped she still understood that.

"Sadie," he implored. "Please. Talk to me. I can't listen unless you talk to me."

Finally, after a minute or two of straight sobbing, Sadie finally felt ready to speak.

"I'm going to be a terrible mother," she said. "I don't … I don't have any of the right things. I'm only nineteen. And my mother … is … how am I supposed to know what to do without her? What am I supposed to do? I don't even know where you're supposed to _start_."

She cried more, and Johnny held her tighter. Of course, her crying was so intense that she could hardly feel her husband's arms around her, so it wasn't like it made much of a difference. At least she knew he was there in spirit. At least she knew that.

"And I can't stop thinkin' about … what if I had lost you?"

"Lost me?" Johnny asked. His voice went high with shock.

"Yeah, lost you. What if the law had changed, and you'd actually been shipped out, just like Soda? What if you get tired of me cryin' all the time and missin' my brother too much? What if you think I don't love you enough, and you realize you're too good for me, after all?"

She let out another wounded cry, and Johnny held her even tighter. He kissed Sadie everywhere – shoulders, neck, chin, eyes, everywhere. He had to make her see. There wasn't any part of her that he didn't love. There wasn't any part of her he would have traded in for anything else. When he'd fallen in love with Sadie Curtis – when he agreed to marry her – it wasn't because he didn't know what else to do. It was because she was the only person who ever really felt like home. She felt like home _should have_ felt.

Johnny was planning to say all of those things. He knew how desperately Sadie needed to hear them. But before he could get a word out, there was a knock at the door.

Their parental test was soon to begin.

It was past seven in the evening, and Lucy finally waltzed through the apartment door. Sure enough, Dally was sitting on the edge of the bed, frowning at her. She never thought she'd ever see him look so stern and strict. In that moment, he looked more like a father than he ever had before. He may have frightened Lucy if she wasn't remembering that husbands were never supposed to frighten their wives.

"Where the hell have you been?" Dally asked. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"It's just past seven," Lucy said. "I know how to read a clock. I'm glad to see you do, too."

"That ain't funny, Bennet. I been worried about you all fuckin' night. Elenore's been cryin' for hours, tryin' to find her mama. But I couldn't get a hold of you."

Lucy rolled her eyes and peeled off her jacket, which she promptly threw on the ground. Angrily, Dally pointed at it.

"Pick that up."

"You pick it up. If it's bothering you."

Dally rolled his eyes and picked up the jacket, which he promptly hung up in the family's shallow closet. As he stuck his arm in the closet, he realized how badly they needed to move. This place wasn't big enough for the three of them … of course, the third member of their family wasn't around as often as she should have been. Not anymore.

"I fuckin' called _everyone _we know," Dally said. "I called your folks, and you weren't there. I called Sadie and Johnny, and you weren't there."

"That's not everyone we know, babe. You gotta re-evaluate your math skills because we know plenty more people than that."

"Where _were you_?"

"I was with an organization on campus. You know, the one Randy Adderson's the president of?"

Dally scoffed.

"Right. I forgot. My wife's best friends with Mr. Super Soc nowadays. It makes terrific sense. How's it workin' out for ya?"

"I've told you a million times. Randy isn't a Soc. He's an English major, he wants to be a poet, and he's got a lot of good insights. Insights I share."

"So, you're gonna fuck him now? Is that how this works?"

"I never said a word about that."

"But that's how it starts. My old man stepped out on my old lady more times than I could count. I was a kid, man, but I know what it looks like to step out."

"And what does it look like?"

"Coming home _hours _after ya said ya would is a pretty fuckin' good indicator, Bennet."

Lucy rolled her eyes again. She wished Dally would get off her case and let her live her life. It was deeply ironic. When they first got married, she figured she would be the one reining him in – making sure he knew that because he was somebody's husband now, he couldn't stay out all night and commit petty (and some not-so-petty) crimes. She never figured she'd be the one with the problem.

And in truth, it wasn't a problem she really _wanted_ to have. She didn't love going to these organizational meetings with Randy and some other snobbish students in the humanities. Lucy knew she was intelligent, but she wasn't a snob about it – at least, not anymore. These people were looking for problems without solutions. They were asking questions, yet they were uninterested in finding answers. These weren't the kind of invigorating conversations Lucy hoped to have with her colleagues, but at least they were different than the monotony of changing diapers and feeding her baby round the clock. At least they were a tiny break from her domestic expectations.

"I'm not fucking Randy Adderson," Lucy said. "I think you know that, too. I'm just going to these club meetings to talk to people about some issues that are important to me."

"Oh, yeah? Like what? What's one of these issues you can talk about with a bunch of fuckin' strangers, but ya can't talk about with your own husband? Huh?"

"Gender inequality in marriage, for one thing. I can't always be expected to stay home and look after the baby. That's what you seem to want from me because you know it's the role the wife is supposed to play."

"I don't know _shit _about roles that wives are supposed to play. My mother is _dead_. She didn't give a shit about me or my sister or my old man. She decided she'd rather be fuckin' _dead_. All I know is that I thought we were in this whole thing together. Bein' married. Bein' parents. It's like for the last few months, I been on my own. And that's not fuckin' _gender equality in marriage_. Just 'cause I'm the one who's stayin' in all the time. It's bullshit."

"Don't say that about me."

"I'm not sayin' it about you. I'm sayin' it about what you're doin'. There's a difference. What you're doin' is keepin' something from me. I can tell by the look you got in your eyes. There's somethin' wrong with you. You won't talk to me about it. Dammit, Lucy! Why won't you _talk to me about it_?"

Lucy felt her heart drop. Dally almost never became this passionate. It was always far more important for him to keep his cool. There were those moments when his coolness could no longer work, and he would break down. He would be honest. Those moments, both luckily and unluckily, were terribly attractive to Lucy. Although she knew it was an irresponsible move, she seemed unable to stop herself. She grabbed Dally by the face and kissed him with an unrepeatable, brilliant force. He kissed her back, and before long, they were on the bed, on top of each other, trying to fuck off and forget everything that was (or wasn't) going down between them.

It worked, but only for an hour or two. When Lucy awoke in the middle of the night, she finally realized the _exact _reason Dally was so angry when she walked in past seven that evening.

Lucy had missed Elenore's bedtime that night. She'd missed it for the first time since Elenore had been born.

_Shit_.

* * *

**Chapters are getting longer again … yikes! I'm hoping to be able to update more frequently over the next couple of weeks. I'm moving to a new state on Friday (!), and I don't start my teaching orientation for almost three weeks. Accordingly, I'll have more "down time" to focus on this story, which is … well, it certainly exists. That's about all I have to say on that.**

**Hinton owns **_**The Outsiders**_**. I own a pair of purple sweatpants, which are so soft and wonderful that if I could, I would wear them as my only pants.**


	9. Chapter 9

On the day Sadie Lou Curtis (_Cade_) turned twenty years old, she carried around a bottle of Pepsi Cola all day long and into the night, when Darry and Ponyboy threw a small party for her. Darry was still making the cake. On Sadie (and Soda's) twentieth birthday, Darry still had time to make the cake.

The bottle of Pepsi Cola was a conversation starter, and that, of course, was to say the least. When she and Johnny walked into the party, Ponyboy walked right up to her and gave her an unexpected hug. It nearly knocked Sadie off her feet.

"What was that for?" she asked, halfway laughing.

"Soda wrote me a few weeks ago," Ponyboy said. "Said I oughta give you a hug 'cause we ain't enemies in this. Love ain't a contest, or somethin'."

Sadie nodded. She had been thinking about a very similar thing now that Johnny had officially received his 3-A, and she was becoming more and more pregnant by the hour. Her first trimester was about finished. She was equal parts terrified and overjoyed, which she figured could best be summed up as _overwhelmed_. Ponyboy's sudden rush of affection had certainly contributed to that feeling.

"He's right," she said. "We don't have to compete. Soda loves us both no matter where he is or what he's doin'."

She looked around and saw Jane out of the corner of her eye, chatting listlessly with Lucy. It wasn't an easy day for her, either. As much as Jane wanted to celebrate her friend Sadie, the day was somehow more than empty.

"I don't wanna fight with ya, Sadie," Ponyboy said. "You're my sister – the only one I got."

"I got three brothers, but I don't wanna fight with you, either. You're my only little brother. 'Less you wanna count Soda, which sometimes I do."

"That drives him crazy."

"You bet it does."

They shared a laugh. It was mostly stiff, which disappointed Sadie but didn't surprise her. She and Ponyboy had had an icy relationship since the end of '65 when she and Johnny started going steady, and things only got colder after they married and after Soda shipped out. Their connection had been frozen solid for so long they knew it would take a long time for things to get warm again. One hug couldn't fix it all, even if it was Soda's request.

Sadie thought back to that time after their parents' accident … after Sandy had been sent to live with her grandmother in Florida, and all Soda could do was cry and cry and cry. Meanwhile, all Pony and Darry could do was fight and fight and fight. They'd been bickering with each other about some late assignment of Pony's on the same night Sandy wrote to Soda and told him there was no way she was coming back to town, and Soda got up from the table and just took off running. When the rest of the Curtis kids finally caught up to him, he sat in the middle of the lawn and cried, begging Pony and Darry not to fight anymore. Darry always hated to see Soda cry (even though it happened almost all of the time), so it was very easy for him to look at his kid brother and say, "OK, little buddy. We ain't gonna fight no more." But as they all sat in the ground and held each other, wishing for a new day to begin and for everything to change for the better, Sadie knew that couldn't be. She knew things weren't that easy. She wondered if her brothers knew it, too. Judging by the distant look in Ponyboy's eyes on the night of Sadie's twentieth birthday, she figured he understood. He might have understood better than Darry and even Soda.

"I miss you, Pony," Sadie said. "I know we ain't gonna become the best of pals over night or anything, but I miss you. I miss when we used to read together and when we used to get along. Don't you?"

Ponyboy nodded.

"I'm tryin', Sadie."

He really was trying. He knew that his feeling distant from his brothers and Johnny (and even Sadie herself) wasn't actually Sadie's fault. She was just living her life and making the relationships she needed to make. For the most part, Sadie was happy, and as her brother, it was Ponyboy's responsibility to be happy for her. At the same time, Ponyboy could barely help himself. Sadie was right there, she was a whole person, and it was easy to blame a person you could see. Admitting that it was nobody's fault that Soda was gone and Pony felt alone was still the hardest part. He wished he could look at Sadie and see her the way he used to. The wishing seemed to make it more possible. Still, on that night, when he looked into his sister's eyes, all he saw was his brother … and if he looked past his brother, he nearly cried at what else he could see.

His eyes floated down to the bottle in Sadie's hand, which he immediately pointed at.

"Hey, I thought you were a Coca-Cola girl," he said.

Sadie picked up the bottle and showed it off a little bit.

"Oh, I ain't drinkin' it or nothin'," she said. "I don't think it's very good for the baby if I do."

"Probably not. Why're ya carryin' it around?"

"I didn't want to turn twenty without him. It just … it felt like a big deal. And if I couldn't have Sodapop, then I'd have Pepsi Cola beside me. That way it feels like he's here. Dad, too."

The thought of their father referring to their brother as _Pepsi Cola _was enough to make Ponyboy cry, but he didn't think of himself as much of a crier. He blinked back any tears he could have shed and stayed strong … for Sadie, for Soda, and (maybe most of all) for himself.

"This has gotta be a rough birthday," Ponyboy said. "You and Soda have spent all your birthdays together. I can't even imagine how …"

"Awful," Sadie cut him off. "It's awful. I've broken down and cried nearly three times already. Johnny's been there to hold me and to help, but it almost … it almost doesn't matter, Pony. I still feel like my knees are gonna give out, and I'm gonna be on the ground."

Once more, Ponyboy wrapped his sister into a hug. This hug, however, wasn't purely motivated by the request Soda made in his letter. In that moment, Pony saw Sadie's pain, and in that moment, her pain became his. He began to feel like her brother again – not simply her convenient sibling. He couldn't bear to see her look so sick and so sad. He had to do something. While he had no way of getting Soda back before it was time, he knew he could show her that there were still people – loads of people – at home who would have given up anything for her happiness and her safety. He was one of them, even if he did feel inexplicably angry with her much of the time.

"You're gonna be OK," he said. "You're already OK. You're my sister Sadie."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I know my sister, and she's a tough broad. She don't let nothin' get the better of her. She just keeps fightin' her way through the crowds."

Tearfully, Sadie scooped her baby brother up into their third embrace of the evening. It felt a little strange, given how cold Ponyboy had been with her for what felt like eons, but it was the only thing she knew how to do. She needed support, and regardless of their iciness, Ponyboy was a support system Sadie could count on. They were in the middle of their tightest hug of the evening when Johnny awkwardly approached them.

"Sadie, honey?" Johnny asked.

Much to her own surprise, Sadie turned an interesting shade of scarlet. What Johnny said was, evidently, not scandalous. Husbands referred to their wives as _honey _all the time (unless they were Dallas Winston, who typically opted to call his wife by her surname). But Johnny always seemed to be a bit afraid of terms of endearment. It seemed almost like he was afraid that if he used one, then it would somehow be turned around against him. Sadie's heart soared when she realized what Johnny had actually just done on that, the night of her twentieth birthday. Not only was it the first time he'd used a term of endearment for his wife in front of one of the gang, but also, it was the first time he'd used a term of endearment in front of Sadie herself.

Nervously (which didn't make a lot of sense, considering the fact that Johnny was Sadie's husband of several months), Sadie broke her embrace with her little brother and tucked her long hair behind her pink ears. She cleared her throat before answering Johnny, almost like she'd been caught doing something she really wasn't supposed to do. In a way, she assumed, maybe she _had _done something she wasn't supposed to do. She thought of Soda and wanted to fall over again.

"What's the matter?" Sadie asked. It was all too easy to assume that with Johnny, something was the matter.

"I was just gonna ask you if you wanted to cut the cake," Johnny said. "I know we just got here, but Dally's over in the corner holdin' Elenore, and she won't stop shoutin' for cake, cake, cake."

Sadie laughed.

"So, this is what it's like raisin' a kid," she said. "Even at your own birthday party, ya do what they want ya to."

"You ready?"

She looked in Elenore's direction and nearly swooned. It was October 1968 now, and Elenore was a year and a half old already. _A year and a half_. She could walk around and say a few things in conversation. Much like Lucy (and probably like Dally, though Sadie had no way of being sure), Elenore found it very important to learn English and insert herself into the conversation whenever she could. Her hair was getting long and thick, so much like her mother's, and she looked less like a baby and more like a very tiny girl. Sadie had loved people before, but loving a child was something different. Loving a child made you feel unstoppable and terrified all at the same time. She palmed her stomach. If she loved Elenore Winston with this much intensity, she couldn't even imagine how overwhelmed she would be when she finally held her own baby.

"Definitely."

Johnny quickly kissed Sadie on her lips and then walked over to Darry to tell him it was OK to cut the cake. Before he could, however, he noticed Jane Randle standing near the kitchen, gripping her bottle of Coca-Cola with all the intensity in the world and looking like she might fall over. When she and Johnny made eye contact, Johnny knew he had no choice but to approach his friend.

"Hey, Jane," he said. "Ya look kinda down."

"I'm fine," Jane said. "I'm fine except for the part where it's my boyfriend's twentieth birthday, he isn't here, and I haven't heard from him in a week."

Johnny scuffed his shoes beneath the floor, feeling more awkward than he had in a long time. He was always anxious when he had to talk to people – even people he knew quite well, like Jane. But talking about things like this … things that were deep and meaningful … that wasn't always easy for him. It wasn't that he was cold or unfeeling like Dally and Steve could be (or, perhaps more aptly, could _pretend _to be). He was sensitive, like Sodapop and Ponyboy. He just didn't know how to be sensitive in front of many people (in particular, people who weren't biologically Curtis). There was a part of him that was always afraid that the person he spoke to would find some way to use what he said against him. A life of constant abuse and neglect had made Johnny paranoid, and he had no idea how he could resolve it.

"Aww, Jane," he finally said. "I'm sorry. Ya know Soda would be right next to ya if he could be."

Jane nodded, evidently trying to blink back tears. It seemed to be all she did anymore – just blink back tears and blink back tears. She was tired of feeling like she didn't belong anywhere in the world. She was tired of people like Lilly Cade and _Violet Winston_ telling her that she had no right to be resentful and angry that Soda was in Vietnam … that Sadie got to keep Johnny while Soda was forced to go overseas. For once, Jane wanted someone to listen. Maybe then, she could purge all the cold and heartless feelings she knew she had. Maybe then, she would feel like someone cared for _her _and what she had to say.

Johnny seemed a decent place to start.

"I know," Jane finally said. "It's hard bein' without him, but at least I know he'd do just about anything to be here. Standin' next to me."

Johnny nodded. Perhaps Jane didn't know it, but he knew exactly where she was going with this. In truth, that year, Jane was so myopic that she couldn't have possibly known that Johnny and Lilly spoke to one another quite frequently, especially since he and Sadie had been married.

"Soda loves you," Johnny said. "You know that. C'mon. Ain't no reason not to cheer up for a minute or two and have a good time with Sadie. She's your friend. I know she is."

Jane sighed. Though Johnny didn't speak up very often, when he did, it was always wiser than it needed to be. She should have remembered to expect more out of him. After all, Sadie married him, and Sadie was smart. Upon that thought, Jane gulped, and the saliva pierced the middle of her throat. To her dismay, it hurt too much to think good things about Sadie.

"Don't ya feel like we're in a strange spot?" Jane blurted. It was the only thing that kept her throat from burning – the honesty, even in front of Sadie's own husband, who loved her like he'd never loved anyone before.

"What're you talkin' about?"

"You and me. We're in a strange spot with the twins. You're married to Sadie. I'm with Soda … that is, when he's beside me and not in Vietnam."

She bit down on her bottom lip _hard_. The word _Vietnam _would never prove easy to say – not even after Soda eventually returned home.

"I still don't know what we're talkin' about," Johnny said. "I love Sadie. I married her 'cause I love her."

"But don't you ever feel like she loves Soda more'n she loves you?"

Johnny shook his head. Jane was both stunned and not stunned at all. With every passing moment, she seemed to be the crazy one – the only one with a hint of jealousy running through her veins and the only one who didn't understand this incredible thing of _twins_. She and Steve were close enough in age, and they weren't so bonded to each other that if you split them apart, they'd die. Most of the time, they barely even noticed when the other wasn't around. It had been that way since they were almost teenagers. Why weren't Sadie and Soda the same way? What was so important about being a twin that wasn't the same as being someone's sister?

"It ain't a competition," Johnny said. "C'mon, Jane. You don't know what it's like to be a twin. Neither do I. Besides, you know Sadie and Soda are closer'n most twins on account-a their folks dyin' when they were younger. It's part-a bein' with one of 'em. It's like you're married to brother and sister. You know that, don't ya?"

"But why does it _have _to be that way? Why does Soda _have _to write as many letters to his own sister as he writes to me? Why can they understand each other in a way we can never, ever understand them?"

"We didn't grow up with 'em. I mean, sure, we've known 'em a long time, but it ain't the same. They grew up in the same house. Hell, they were born at the same time. That ain't somethin' we can try to get in on."

"Obviously."

"But I think it's somethin' we can try to understand."

Jane wrinkled her tiny nose.

"What do you mean?"

Johnny shrugged. For him, it was so obvious. He figured it was probably obvious to Jane, too. Sometimes, he figured, it was easy to be obstinate when you wanted things to go your way (and no way else). He'd learned that from observing his old man all those years in his house.

"If ya love Soda, and I know ya do, then you'll try to understand. Sadie's a big priority for him, but that don't mean you're not just as important. It's just different."

And though Johnny started to walk away from Jane, she called him back. There was too much anger, jealousy, and confusion coursing through her body to stay quiet. Sometimes, she could be sweet Jane. This was not one of those times. In that moment, she was angry Jane. She was _vengeful _Jane. Unfortunately for him, Johnny happened to be standing in the way of her wrath.

"I know that's bullshit!" she yelled. "I know you don't get it either. I know you were fightin' with Sadie about it, and I know that's the night you knocked her up!"

As soon as the last word flew out of her mouth, Jane smacked her hands across her lips. The entire party came to a grinding halt. Johnny turned a whitish color and looked down at his shoes, wishing he could fall through the floor and never come back up again. Sadie, in the middle of things, about to ask Darry to cut and serve the cake with her, looked like she was going to burst into tears. She stared at Jane, clearly betrayed. The longer Sadie's stare bore into Jane's eyes, the more Jane regretted what she had said. She regretted trying to force a response out of Johnny that he didn't want to give. She regretted that now, everything and everyone around them were motionless, shocked, and pissed off.

The only people at the party who were sane enough to move again were (to no one's surprise) Lucy and Dally. When she saw the mortified look on Sadie's face, Lucy immediately left her husband's side to comfort her best friend. Though Sadie wasn't crying (yet), Lucy was good at anticipating her emotions, particularly now that Sadie was pregnant. While Lucy moved to support Sadie, Dally headed straight for Jane.

"What d'you think you're doin'?" he asked. He was up in her face, and if she were younger, she probably would have been afraid. But she wasn't. She'd known Dally (the old Dally and the new, paternal Dally) long enough. He was too close to hurt her. All he could do now, really, was piss her off. And damn, he was good at that.

"Just leave me alone," Jane said. "I didn't …"

"You didn't what? Huh? Think? That's obvious. If you'd been thinkin', ya wouldn't have just shouted out to everybody we know about somethin' Sadie told ya in confidence. Ya wouldn't have put Johnny on the spot the way ya did. I ain't a girl, but I know girls ain't supposed to do that to each other. I know they ain't supposed to do that to their friend's husbands."

"Just leave me _alone_."

"I ain't gonna leave you alone! I ain't gonna fuckin' leave you alone unless you apologize. Apologize to Johnny for makin' him feel on the spot like that, all right? And after you're done with that, you can apologize to my sister-in-law for makin' her feel shitty on her fuckin' birthday. How do ya like that?"

Much like the time Soda had slipped and referred to Lucy as his sister, Dally hadn't noticed how he'd referred to Sadie in that moment. In that moment, it simply felt natural.

After a moment or two, Dally finally backed off Jane, ignoring Steve's bellows all the way back to Lucy and Elenore at the other end of the room.

"That's right, you fuckin' walk away, Dally!" Steve shouted. "What? Are you outta your fuckin' mind, ya rat bastard? That's my kid sister. You don't just fuckin' move in on somebody's kid sister like that!"

If Dally had been a younger, angrier man, he probably would have turned on his heels, marched up to Steve, said something cool, sly, and awful to him, and put out his cigarette somewhere on his body or his clothes. Before, that had been one of Dally's favorite intimidation tactics. Now, of course, he was nearly twenty-one years old, a husband, and a father. He had to be more responsible than that. Sometimes, he quickly discovered, the most responsible (and the toughest) thing to do in a fight was to walk away.

Slowly, almost like she wasn't one with her own body, Jane made her way over to Sadie. Sadie, in all her toughness, still hadn't cried. She gripped Lucy's hand with an immeasurable force. Jane hated herself for making it happen.

"Sadie," she said. "I'm sorry. I didn't … and today …"

"She knows," Lucy said. "Why don't you give her a few minutes?"

"But I'm …"

"Jane. I'm serious."

Jane sighed softly and sulked on. She was going to make her way over to Steve so that, at the very least, they could complain about Dally together. Maybe they could even talk about missing Soda. But before she could speak to her brother, she felt someone else's hand on her arm. When she turned around, she was confused.

"Ponyboy?"

Pony stood in front of her, not sure he wanted to be seen with the woman who just tried to ruin his sister's birthday party, but not sure of who else Jane could really talk to. He nodded, as if to confirm what he was doing there.

"I think we need to talk."

* * *

_October 8, 1968_

_Dear Sadie Lou,_

_ I know this aint gonna get to you till after our birthday but I wanted to write to you anyway. Happy birthday! I cant hardly belive were already 20 years old. Seems like yesterday we was all teasing Darry about turning 20 and getting old. Looks like were getting up there too. You more then me when I think about it. Your the one whos married and having a baby all your own. Hows Johnny doing? How are YOU doing? You said a little while ago that Johnny got his draft card and got out of it cause of the baby but you didnt say much more. I figure its gotta be harder on you then your letting on. You can tell me if things are hard Sadie Lou. When have I ever not listened?_

_ I hope you and Pony are getting along OK. I know things have been hard between you guys since I left. I told him to start treating you like his sister again and I dont know if he listened. Theres something so stubborn about that kid. You know? You remember that time when he was maybe six or seven or something and Darry said something about him being too short to sit in the back row at the Dingo? And later on when Darry bought him a box of popcorn out of the goodness of his heart Pony refused to take a bite? Just cause Darry made him mad before? Its almost cute but sometimes I wish hed grow out of it and start treating you better. Youre his only sister. You deserve it._

_ And that reminds me. You talk a whole lot about everybody back at home. You tell me Lucy aint doing so hot for a reason nobody really gets. Not even Dally. You tell me Carrie Shepard loves her one class at TU. You even tell me Two-Bit's drinking less which suprises you cause you thought hed just get more drunk after he got back home. Point is you talk about everybody under the sun but you never talk about my Jane. And I know why. I might be dumb but I aint stupid. You and Jane are in some kinda contest. Who does Soda love more? I dont know how many times I gotta settle that one. Who does Soda love more? He loves you both more and he loves you both less. It dont matter. Your my sister and Jane is my girl. Its different and its the same. But whats important to me is that the 2 of you understand that. Its important to me that my sister and my girl get along. I know itll be better once I get back home but when Im away … just dont lose sight of each other OK? You mean too much to each other. I know that._

_ I miss you so much. Every now and then when I dont want to think about where I really am … when I want to pretend like Im not really here … I think about what you and Johnny are gonna name that baby of yours. Ive been thinking about it too. I know you and I know youre gonna wanna name your son after me. We talked about that. If I had a son Id name him Lou after you. But I dont think you should. I been thinking about it and maybe if you have a boy like you seem to think your gonna, maybe you should name him Michael. You know. After Ponyboy. I think itd mean a lot to him. Plus itd mean a lot to Johnny. If you wanna stick to Patrick Ill be more then happy to call him that. But I dont think Michael's such a bad idea. My friend Mikey agrees. Maybe thats why we get along so well. Hes like a Pony away from Pony. Almost all the other guys are like a Darry away from Darry. The bad thing is there aint no Sadie away from Sadie. And I miss you just as much as I miss the guys._

_ Cant wait to hear from you. Let me know how that baby's treating you. I love you. Happy brithday! – Sodapop Curtis_

* * *

Every Wednesday afternoon, Lucy would meet up with Randy Adderson and a few like-minded students to talk about what was going on (read: wrong) in the world. When Randy first introduced Lucy to the rest of the group, he bragged about how diverse their organization's population was. Of course, for someone who grew up as homogenously as Randy Adderson, _diverse _meant that the women outnumbered the men (by exactly one body), most of the members had come from middle-class families in Tulsa, and one of the guys in the group was studying math, not English or philosophy or anything within the humanities. Everyone in the room was white. To Lucy, that racial disparity was always embarrassingly noticeable, but it became downright unbearable when Randy and the others began to wax about racial injustice in the United States. She wanted to duck under a table and hide when the math major in the room spoke about the assassination of Dr. King as if he'd been standing in the parking lot of the motel when it happened.

That Wednesday, the group continued their discussion of expectations for marriage between men and women, and they gained two new members. As she halfway listened to Randy drone on and on about how a woman didn't _have _to always want to have sex with her husband, of course, but it would be _appreciated_, Lucy's eyes flickered toward a familiar couple of people near the back of the room. She weaved her way through the not-quite-hippies and inserted herself between Ponyboy Curtis and Cherry Valance.

"Hey, Pony," Lucy said. "What are you doing here?"

"Randy dropped by my Intro to English class," Ponyboy said. "You know, the one where the professor's your dad."

"That must be awkward for you."

"Not really. He calls on me a lot and expects me to know more answers than I do, but it's alright. He teaches me a lot of tuff things. Anyway, Randy came in and made some announcement about the group. Sounded pretty cool, so I figured I'd drop by."

His eyes flickered over to Cherry, who looked at Lucy with anxious eyes. Lucy, picking up on Ponyboy's silent cues, smiled in Cherry's direction.

"And you brought a friend," Lucy said. "Must be a two-for-one special."

"Oh, yeah, it's a real nice one. I get a whole free Pepsi and everything."

"Hi, Lucy," Cherry finally said. Her voice was quiet and calm … just like Lucy remembered it from that one day when they were seniors in high school.

"Hey, Cherry. What brings you here?"

"Well, after we graduated from high school, Randy and I sort of reconnected. We're not seeing each other or anything. I don't think I could …"

Her voice trailed off, and Lucy understood. These days, Randy appeared different from Cherry's high-school boyfriend, Bob Sheldon, but Lucy and Cherry were both smart enough to know better. You could educate a boy with all the philosophy and poetry in the world, but if there was a bit of an asshole in him to begin with, it was likely to stay with him until he died.

"I thought joining this group might be helpful for my classes," Cherry said. "You know, meeting people. Seeing what makes them join a group like this."

"Still studying psychology?"

Cherry nodded.

"I'm gonna take a year or two off after I graduate, but I've been talkin' to my advisors," she said. "Looks like if I continue to keep my grades up and score well on the right tests, I could be Dr. Valance one day. Well. Doctor something."

In that moment, Lucy's heart swelled for Cherry Valance. They'd never been close (or even friends), but since that time they were forced to partner up for an activity in a creative-writing class back in high school, both women had developed a strong, silent respect for one another. Lucy admired Cherry's persistence and belief in herself. She admired the fact that she was chasing down what _she _wanted, not what a husband or a father wanted from her. Maybe Cherry was rich enough to do that on her own. Lucy didn't know. She didn't care. All she knew was that when she looked at Cherry Valance, a grown-up Cherry Valance, and she loved that she was so capable. She loved that she hadn't given up on herself … hadn't given into her fears.

And as much as Lucy admired all of that in Cherry, she felt twinges of jealousy at the same time. She knew she wouldn't trade Dally and Elenore for the world (Would she?), but she knew she wasn't free. She wasn't free like Cherry. Where Cherry was unencumbered by a man or a child or anything else, Lucy felt stuck. She felt like there was no way out unless she was alone. And she wasn't alone. She'd never be alone again. Try as she did to think about what she wanted for herself, she couldn't anymore. Now, all she could think about was what Elenore wanted. Even as she stood in that meeting, she couldn't help but keep track of the clock. Dally still hadn't quite forgiven her for missing Elenore's bedtime that once in September.

"What brings you here?" Cherry asked.

"Me?" Lucy asked.

"Yeah, you. I know how you feel about women's rights and civil rights and all that stuff we don't hear about enough in the news around here. But Randy …"

Cherry gestured toward Randy again, as he talked to some of the men in the group about how he wasn't sure that women really _needed _the right to an abortion on a national level. He thought of it as "a state issue." Lucy could barely contain the roll of her eyes.

"Well, he's Randy."

Lucy nodded. Cherry was too smart to be fooled by her. Ponyboy, who stood there with a dumbfounded expression, was too smart to be fooled, too. He just never gave himself enough credit.

"I don't exactly come here to agree with what Randy Adderson says all the time," Lucy said. "Occasionally, he'll say something I agree with in theory, but then he keeps going, and …"

"And you can tell his folks weren't all out for Adlai."

"That's the nicest way of putting it."

"So what are you doing here?"

Lucy sighed. She didn't know how she felt about opening up to Cherry Valance, a woman she'd never particularly gotten along with yet felt a strange connection to. She especially didn't know how she felt about sharing her thoughts with Cherry in front of Ponyboy, who couldn't keep a secret from his siblings or Johnny for more than an hour. Before Lucy knew it, she'd be face to face with Dally as he interrogated her about what was going on with her and why she didn't think she could talk to him about it. In truth, Lucy still didn't know why she thought she couldn't talk about this with Dally … couldn't talk about the problem that had no name, as Friedan wrote when Lucy was a younger girl. She just didn't want him to be disappointed in her. She never thought she'd live to see the day when the notorious Dallas Winston might be disappointed in _her_, the neighborhood's resident bookworm with a bad attitude, but that day had come. She couldn't seem to shake it off.

"Helps me clear my mind," Lucy finally managed. "Takes my mind off things."

"Things like what?" Ponyboy asked. But when Lucy gave him that withering glare of hers, he knew to back off.

"I get perspective when I'm here," Lucy said. "It makes me realize that things in my life aren't that bad."

"What kind of things in your life?" Cherry asked.

Lucy bit her lip in hesitation, and Cherry took a few steps back.

"I'm sorry," she said. "That's a lot of heavy conversation for somebody you haven't talked to in three years. I'm sorry."

"It's no problem," Lucy said. "You're just doing your research. I admire it."

"Thank you."

But if only Lucy could get these feelings off her chest. If only she could tell someone that she wanted to love herself as much as she loved her child. If only she could tell someone that she felt hopeless … like she had no identity outside of a mother. If only she could tell someone that her apartment above Great Books wasn't big enough for her to walk around. Lucy felt like she had let Virginia Woolf down. She felt like she had let her daughter down. She wasn't sure which one was worse.

"Whatever's the matter," Cherry said, "I hope you find a solution to it. Really, I do."

Lucy nodded and muttered something affirmative. It wasn't enough to convince anyone. And unfortunately for Lucy, this was a rare day for Ponyboy Curtis. On that day, Ponyboy Curtis was paying attention to his true surroundings.

There was only one thing he could do with what he was figuring out.

* * *

Dally sat on the bed he shared with Lucy and stared at Elenore in her crib. She was standing inside of it, messing with the bars as though she wanted to break free. Dally couldn't help but have a chuckle under his breath. Elenore really _was _his daughter. Then again, judging by how trapped Lucy seemed to feel in their apartment, maybe she was emulating her mother, too.

"Your ma should be home in a little while," Dally said. "She's at another one of her meetings."

"Boo," Elenore said. Two-Bit had taught her how to say that. He thought it was cute. Dally told Two-Bit that it was annoying, but in the deep recesses of his mind, he thought it was cute, too.

"Yeah, you ain't wrong. But we gotta let your ma do her thing. Ya dig, kid?"

Elenore nodded.

"I know ya dig. You always dig. You're a cool kid, Elenore."

"Yes."

Dally walked over to the crib, leaned down, and kissed his daughter on the top of her head. She let out an affectionate coo. Since the day she was born, she'd always had an incredible soft spot for her father. Of course, from the day she was born, her father had always had an incredible soft spot for her, too. That feeling of connection between them was enough to make him want to stay and be part of her life. Since that day, nothing had changed. Things had only grown stronger between father and daughter – stronger and more real. Dally knew he would do whatever it took to protect Elenore. The only thing he was hesitant to do was lash out at Elenore's mother … who would, if she held true to her promise, be home in about forty-five minutes.

Before he could think very long about what could possibly be wrong with Lucy, there was a knock at the door. It sounded urgent, which would have made Dally nervous if he wasn't (still) the toughest and coolest guy in all of Tulsa. He slowly made his way toward the door, but the knock came again. It was louder this time. Louder and more intense. He couldn't afford to answer it, so he just yelled through the wood.

"Who is it?"

"It's Pony!"

Dally furrowed his brow and felt his heart rate begin to slow down a little. He turned the doorknob and then saw Ponyboy, standing in his doorway, looking like he'd just seen a ghost.

"What the hell is the matter with you, you stupid kid?" Dally asked. "What happened?"

Ponyboy didn't say anything for a moment or two. Of course, this was enough time for Dally, who was every bit as creative as Pony and as paranoid as Johnny (He didn't let on, but it was true.), to start spinning a tale of epic and terrible proportions.

"Where's Lucy?" Dally asked. "What about Johnny? Is Johnny all right?"

"Johnny's fine. But Lucy …"

"What _about _Lucy?"

Ponyboy sighed. He knew he was being too much. He was always being too much. But since his talk with Jane at Sadie's birthday party (the one Soda had no choice but to miss), he hadn't been feeling right. He couldn't explain it, but he knew it was true.

"I know why she's been actin' so strange, Dally," Ponyboy said. "She didn't say it, but she might as well have."

"What's the matter with her?"

"She feels like she ain't enough. Like this ain't enough for her."

He stretched out his arms around the room as if to remind Dally of what he already inferred. Dally narrowed his eyes and glared at Pony in front of him. He wasn't mad at the kid. He was mad most of the time, but he wasn't mad at the kid. He was just a messenger, and the older he got, the more careful Dally was about shooting those. Finally, he let out a long sigh and balled his hands into fists – a signature Lucy Bennet move from way back when, before they were married … back when Dallas Winston seemed like enough for her.

"She's outta her damn mind," Dally said. "This ain't enough for her? This is enough for anybody. It's more than fuckin' enough. We never have a minute to slow down and rest around here. Ya know the reason I ain't been hauled in for almost two fuckin' years, Pony? Huh? It's 'cause I'm too busy tryin' to keep my kid fed."

He glanced backward at Elenore, still in her crib, still smiling at him like she had no idea he was upset. Of course, Elenore was nothing if not an empathetic baby. She knew her father was in some kind of pain. That was why she smiled at him. She was, after all, Sodapop Curtis's only goddaughter. In the short time she knew him, she had picked up a few tricks of his trade.

"Now Lucy's sayin' it ain't enough," he said. "Bullshit."

"I thought you weren't supposed to swear in front of Elenore like that," Ponyboy said, pointing at the baby like she wasn't even there.

"Elenore's plenty smart. She knows what she's allowed to say and what she ain't."

He clicked his tongue as he thought of Lucy again.

"Not enough for her," he repeated. "It's bullshit, Pony. It's fuckin' bullshit."

"I don't think she means she ain't got enough to do or worry about 'round here," Ponyboy said. "I think that's the whole point. She feels like she's trapped."

"How the fuck is she trapped? She's never even home anymore. I feel like the minutes when I get to see her are like those fuckin' leap years or the Olympics or somethin'. Every once in a while but never …"

He stopped. He was almost going to say it was never_ enough_.

"Look, 's far 's I can see, Lucy's lookin' to figure out what it means to be herself again. She don't just wanna be your wife. She don't just wanna be Elenore's mama."

"But she ain't just those things. She knows that. She's a whole person. That's why I …"

He stopped himself again. If he never told Lucy he loved her, why would he say it in front of the kid? The kid couldn't keep a secret for more than an hour. After a second or two with him, Lucy would know that her husband loved her before the day was out. And that was the last thing they needed. The last thing they needed was for anything to change. Dally told himself that was true.

"She ain't just my woman or a mother," Dally said. "She's fuckin' Lucy. You're tellin' me all of a sudden she forgot that?"

"I don't know what's goin' on with her. I'm just guessin'."

"But she said enough about it to you to get you there. Forget about me. I'm just her fuckin' husband. I don't need to know the truth. She can keep it from me, but you? No problem."

"She wasn't talkin' to me. I was standin' there, but I don't even think she remembered I was there. If she had, she probably would've kept her mouth shut a little more. Don't ya think she knows me better by now?"

Dally rolled his eyes. It was all he could do not to strangle the kid. He might have been getting better at not shooting the messenger, but this message was, in many ways, a bit too much to bear.

"If she wasn't talkin' to you, who was she talkin' to?" Dally asked.

Ponyboy didn't say anything. Naturally, Dally had to resort to some old-fashioned methods. His wife was on the line, and he wasn't going to pretend like that didn't matter. He'd spent too much of his existence trying to pretend nothing mattered until he couldn't hold it in anymore. He needed to put a stop to that, and he knew it. But when it was Lucy … when it was Lucy, it was enough to inspire him to grab Ponyboy by the collar and make him talk.

"You wanna give me an answer this time?"

"It was Cherry Valance. She talked to Cherry Valance about what's been goin' on with her."

Dally loosened his grip on Pony's shirt until finally, he let the kid out of his grasp altogether. He felt … lost. It wasn't something he'd ever admitted to feeling before. Yet, he was lost now, and he didn't have anyone in sight who could pull him out of wherever he was. Cherry Valance? His wife could talk to _Cherry Valance_, a Soc whom she used to loathe and despise, about what had been going on with her, but she couldn't reach out to her own husband? There was nothing Dallas Winston could feel _except _lost. He took a deep breath and wished for a cigarette to appear between his fingers. Then, he turned around and saw Elenore, still standing in her crib, still smiling because she thought her dad needed it.

"Dad?" she asked.

Dally almost cracked a smile at the baby in the crib. She really was a clever girl, that Elenore Winston.

"Yeah, baby," Dally said. His voice was hoarse. "I'm right here. I ain't goin' nowhere. I ain't gonna leave ya."

That was enough for Ponyboy to insert himself into the conversation. He would dare to say that he knew both Dally and Lucy fairly well, and he knew when they were getting crazy ideas in their heads. This was one of those times for Dally. If Ponyboy could derail his thoughts quickly, maybe he wouldn't spiral out of control. Whenever Dally spiraled out of control, people paid the price. Without Lucy around to remind him that destruction is a stupid thing to do, there was no telling what he could make happen.

"You don't think Lucy's tryin' to leave ya, do you?" Ponyboy finally asked.

Dally marched right over to Elenore's crib and grabbed her out of it. He held her on his hip and grabbed his keys off the table with his free hand. He looked right at Ponyboy with a stare that could have knocked the kid into next week. And to think – a month earlier, he was beginning to believe that Dally was losing his edge.

"I'm gonna make sure that doesn't happen," Dally said.

"How can ya do that? Are you gonna talk to her?"

"I'm gonna do the next best thing."

He walked out the door with Elenore in tow, but before he could really take off, he stopped in his tracks and turned back around to face Ponyboy. The kid was still standing there, dumbstruck. It was true. He had no idea where to go now that Soda wasn't around. In truth, neither did Dally. He just didn't make it as obvious as Pony did.

"Thanks, kid," Dally said. "I think I know where to go from here."

"Where?"

"None of your damn business."

Ponyboy stood in the hallway and watched Dally take off down the stairs, careful to make sure Elenore was safe in his arms. It was still the strangest sight – Dally having a child whom he loved and cared for. Quietly (as he was still afraid Dally could hear him, even in the privacy of his own thoughts), Ponyboy prayed that Dally could do what he needed to for Lucy's sake. He'd always imagined Dally would be the one to leave Lucy and the baby behind. The thought of Lucy leaving behind Dally and the baby … that wasn't one anyone was ready to deal with.

Maybe he'd write to Soda as soon as he got home.

* * *

_October 15, 1968_

_Dear Carrie,_

_ Im sure you never thought youd get a letter from me. But here I am. Writing you a letter. Im writing you a letter Carrie beacause I dont know how else to say what I need to say. Its about Pony. I know you love him. I know you always have. You love him even when he treats you like you aint important and I dont like that. I dont like that he's spent too many years treating you like youre less then what you are. Youre worth a lot. I think my brother's worth a lot too but hes not acting like a good guy when it comes to you. And Im sorry. I think hes just afraid. Hes afraid of what will happen if you say no. As if youd ever say no. I always used to tell him that but he dont listen. That's Pony for you aint it?_

_ So heres what I want from you Carrie. If Ponyboy doesnt ask you out for a date or to be his steady before the end of your first year at TU you ask him out. You be the one to take what you want. Your a gret girl and I want to see you understand that about yourself. I want to see Pony understand it too._

_ Now I know you aint just looking for relationship advice. Sadie tells me you really like one of your classes. I think I know which one shes talking about but I cant spell it. How about you spell it for me when you write back to me?_

It was the last thing Dally wanted to do, but at that point, he figured it was the last thing he could do at all.

With Elenore safely nestled in his arms, Dally took off from the apartment above Great Books to the first home he had shared with Lucy Bennet all those years ago – her parents' house.

He almost felt afraid when Dr. Jack Bennet answered the door and looked at him with those eyes. They were halfway confused and halfway knowing. Dally wondered how Dr. Bennet could pull off a look like that. Probably years of practice as a professor, trying to act impressed with run-of-the-mill student papers every semester. It almost made Dally feel smarter. Afraid, maybe, but also smarter.

"Dallas, what are you doing here?" Dr. Bennet asked, though some part of his voice made it seem like he definitely knew what Dally was doing on his doorstep. "It's not our day to watch Elenore. You're not pawning her off on us, are you?"

"No, of course not," Dally said. He broke eye contact with Dr. Bennet. It was too difficult to look someone that cool in the eye.

"Then what are you doing here?"

It took a little while for Dally to answer. Dr. Bennet was nothing but patient. It was another thing he'd gotten good at in his many years of being a professor.

"I'm here to talk to you about Lucy," Dally said. "She ain't been right for months now, and I think I finally know why. Mind if I …?"

Before he could finish the question (and hack his pride to unfortunate bits), Dr. Bennet stepped aside and allowed Dally and Elenore into the house. He knew it would kill his son-in-law to be overly polite. Accordingly, he arranged it so that he didn't have to be. It was perhaps a strange sacrifice to make, but for his daughter's eventual happiness, Dr. Bennet figured it wasn't a bad idea.

Dally took a seat on the Bennet family's couch and let Elenore down on the rug in front of him. Dr. Bennet sat across from him, crossed his legs, and stared his son-in-law in the eye.

"Why're you lookin' at me like that, man?" Dally asked.

"You said Lucy hasn't been right for months now," Dr. Bennet said. "Can you explain what you mean by that?"

"You mean you haven't noticed?"

"I didn't say that. I said I wanted you to explain what you meant. Lucy's my daughter, and I need to make sure her husband is perceiving her to the best of her ability. As the father to a daughter, I'm sure you understand where I might be coming from. Don't you?"

Dally's eyes floated down to the carpet below him where Elenore was messing with her hands and the bits of rug she could attempt to pick up. He almost smiled, but he didn't want to give anyone the satisfaction of knowing he had soft spots (even though everyone was already, of course, completely aware). He understood where Dr. Bennet was coming from. He understood quite perfectly.

He told Dr. Bennet all about Lucy's behavior since she'd gone back to TU for her third year and maybe a little before then, too. He told him about Randy Adderson's group and how Lucy had missed Elenore's bedtime a month earlier because she was spending time with them. He told him about how Ponyboy had just come to his door with some line about how Lucy felt like she wasn't enough if she was just a wife and a mother. He told Dr. Bennet that he thought his wife might want more out of life – the kind of more that he, as the notorious Dallas Winston, felt almost certain he could never provide.

When he finished his spiel (which he'd never given before – it was much easier to suffer in silence, or so he believed), he looked at Dally again. It looked like he had a story behind his lips, which he knew would piss Dally right off. It was, admittedly, part of the idea. The more passionately Dr. Bennet could get Dallas Winston to feel about the issue at hand, the more likely his daughter was to realize that she was in, somehow, a pretty great marriage.

"What?" Dally asked. "Ya look like you're gonna say somethin'. So. Out with it."

Dr. Bennet let out a chuckle, more to himself than to Dally.

"On the day Lucy was born, the nurse told my wife that she was probably hungry," Dr. Bennet said. "She gave my wife a bottle to give to Lucy and said, 'Now, she won't drink it all, so don't be alarmed.' But our Lucy … in about two gulps, she drank the whole thing. It was clear by the look in her eyes that she was asking for more. So, we gave it to her."

"Sounds like she hasn't changed much," Dally said.

"She hasn't. And isn't that what you like best about her? The fact that she's always moving … always looking for what's next? What will possibly top what she already has?"

"Yeah, and sometimes, it drives me fuckin' crazy."

"I know. It drives us all crazy, even Lucy herself. She's unstoppable. She's desperate. She always wants just that much more than what she could be content to have."

"What's this got to do with Lucy drinkin' a shit ton of milk the day she was born?"

Dr. Bennet laughed. This time, it was directed more at Dally. For a kid who let himself get so smart, he sure did choose to be stupid far too often.

"My point is that our Lucy was _born _hungry. She was born wanting more. More. Always more. It doesn't surprise me that Lucy is starting to feel this way about being a wife and a mother. She likes to move and shake, and those two roles … well, they kind of keep you in one place for a long time, if you know what I mean."

Dally gulped but nodded. He knew what was coming next. Dr. Bennet was going to warn Dally that Lucy was planning to leave him. That was the only way this day could get any worse, and Dally was about to find out for sure. He dreaded the next words out of Dr. Bennet's mouth.

"Lucy isn't selfish," Dr. Bennet said. "She wouldn't leave you on your own. But I think, if you haven't already, you need to make yourself open to being mobile."

"Mobile? Like, on the move?"

"Exactly. Lucy's not used to staying in a single place for more than, oh, a year or two at a time. Think about it. We've been in Tulsa for over six years now. That's the longest my Lucy has ever lived in one place. She might be itching to move on."

"But we got an apartment here. This kid was born here. She's got school, and we got …"

Dally's voice trailed off. He didn't want Dr. Bennet to know he cared – not this much, anyway. It wouldn't have mattered. After nearly three years of being his father-in-law, Dr. Bennet dared to say he could read Dallas Winston as well as he could read _Pride and Prejudice_.

"We just got a lot goin' around here," Dally said. "I don't even think … why would she feel stuck here? Why would she wanna leave?"

"Well, she's got a lot of …"

But Dr. Bennet didn't have a chance to finish. He stopped in the middle of his sentence the moment he saw his daughter standing in the doorway, looking at the two most important men in her life, confused and yet confused at all.

"Lucy," Dr. Bennet muttered under his breath.

"I ran into Ponyboy on my way to the apartment," Lucy said. Her voice was so tired. "He told me … he told me he thought that you took Elenore and made your way over here. Guess he was right."

"Stupid kid," Dally said. "I'll get him for that."

"I don't think you're going to get him for anything. I thanked him."

"For what?"

"For leading me over here. You took my child, and you didn't even leave a note. Do you know how scary that could have been?"

"What? You don't trust me enough to … what? Not kidnap our child? Is that, Bennet?"

Dr. Bennet stood up and dismissed himself from the room. Before he could make his way out of sight entirely, Lucy pointed her index finger directly at him.

"Don't think you're off the hook for this," she snapped. "You let him in. You talked to him. I never said anything to either of you. You should have known there was a reason for that. Both of you."

"Lucy …" Dr. Bennet tried, but his daughter waved her hand in front of his face in passive-aggressive dismissal.

"I can't handle you right now. Just … go away."

"This is my house. You can't order me around."

"Dad! I need a minute with my husband. Please."

Dr. Bennet took a deep breath, and he retreated to his room in the back of the house. It was all he could do. You didn't just start a fight with Lucy Bennet, even if you were her father.

Dally grabbed Elenore from the rug beneath them and moved closer to Lucy. He was prepared to get yelled at, screamed at, and maybe even killed. Lucy had been so unpredictable lately. This wasn't going to be an exception. For maybe the first time in his life, Dallas Winston wasn't sure what his next move would be. Whatever it was, of course, he wanted to make it beside Lucy. He wanted to move next to her, but only if she would let him.

Would she let him?

"What were you thinking?" Lucy asked with strains of desperation. "You talked to my father about some problem you think I have?"

"Well, who the fuck knows you better than me except your old man? I had to."

"No, you didn't _have to_, Dally! You could have talked to _me_!"

"No, I fuckin' couldn't! Every time I try to talk to you about it, ya shut me down like I don't even matter. Like ya don't fuckin' trust me, Bennet!"

"Don't swear in front of Elenore!"

"Since when do _you _care what we do in front of Elenore? You're never fuckin' around anymore!"

"I care about Elenore more than I care about myself!"

"Really? That's really what you're goin' with?"

"It's the truth. Why don't you understand that?"

"Because you missed her fuckin' bedtime! Because you walk around talkin' about how there's problems with us! I didn't think we had problems! You think we have problems?"

"Shut up! Shut up! It's not _you_! It's …"

"It's what?"

Lucy backed off. She couldn't believe it. She still felt too guilty to admit her feelings of emptiness and confusion to her husband, whom she loved more than anyone in the world (except for, of course, their Elenore). As much as she wanted to scream and be honest … as much as she knew, deep down, that Dally wouldn't be angry with her or disappointed in her … she felt frozen. It felt like she couldn't take the risk. She took a few steps back and drew in her breath.

"It's nothing," Lucy said. "I don't know what it is, and it doesn't matter."

"How can you say that?" Dally asked. "Huh? You're my … you're supposed … you're supposed to be my fuckin' wife."

Lucy felt her heart shatter in her chest. All she wanted to do was reach out and hold her husband and to tell him that she was still his wife. She was still Elenore's mother. She just wanted to be sure that he saw her as _more _than that. She wanted to be sure that when he – when anyone they knew – looked at her, they still saw Lucy Bennet, the toughest girl with the most grandiose vocabulary in all of the neighborhood.

"And you're supposed to be my husband," Lucy said. She was spitting with erroneous anger, and if she could do it over again, she would. "But you didn't come to me. You came here. And when you did that, you betrayed me."

Lucy turned on her heels and walked out the door, not paying so much as an ounce of attention to Dally behind her. She didn't even kiss Elenore goodbye.

Dallas Winston stood there in the middle of his in-laws' living room, holding his baby close, mulling Lucy's words over and over. He wasn't sure if she would be home when he finally left, but to think about that was to think too far into the future. Instead, all he could think of were those words. She thought he _betrayed _her. He'd been accused of a lot of bullshit (too much bullshit) in his life, but he'd never been accused of betraying anyone before. He'd even taken the fall for Two-Bit after he broke the school windows and never said a word about it, not even when Two-Bit tried to convince Lucy it had gone the other way around. Dallas Winston was a lot of things – some great, some terrible – but he was no betrayer.

Why would Lucy say a thing like that? Why would he let her?

He knew. He didn't know much, but he knew. He'd stand in front of Lucy and let her use him as a punching bag until he couldn't take it anymore. He just couldn't say why.

And that was his own problem.

* * *

**Well, this is the first chapter I've written in my new apartment in my new state! The apartment isn't as nice as my old one, but here's hoping I learn to love it.**

**This fic is weird. I know that. But this is just an odd year in the life of these characters, and there's a lot more (one shots, sequels, etc.) where this came from to fill in the blanks. I may or may not be considering a one shot about my renderings of two canon characters, so look for that. There are about six more chapters in this fic, in particular, unless I change my mind about something and add more.**

**In case you don't know, Adlai is Democrat Adlai Stevenson, who was twice defeated for President of the United States by Republican Dwight D. Eisenhower in the early and mid-1950s.**

**Hinton owns **_**The Outsiders**_**. I own a pair of slippers with Princess Leia faces on them. I wonder if anyone could tell I like **_**Star Wars **_**…**


	10. Chapter 10

On November 11, 1968, Lucy Bennet and Dallas Winston celebrated their third anniversary.

As Lucy's cousin, Lynnie insisted on throwing a party for the couple. Initially, Lucy was reluctant. She and Dally had been going through the roughest patch of their marriage, and it seemed logical to deal with those issues behind closed doors. They'd only superficially made up since their argument at Lucy's parents' house – kissed each other on their way out of the apartment every morning and then again when one of them returned home at night – but every one of their touches was somewhat frigid. A party didn't seem like a good idea. It seemed like would only exacerbate things. But after Lynnie begged and pleaded (After all, she and Darry wanted to make their official public debut as a couple, and a party seemed like the best way to do it.), Lucy finally gave in. Unfortunately, she gave in without asking Dally about his opinion.

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" he asked when she arrived home and filled him in.

"No, I'm not. Lynnie wants to throw us an anniversary party next week, and I think we should let her."

"No fuckin' way. I barely know Lynnie."

"But she's _my _cousin. I know her!"

"That don't give her a right to start pokin' around in our marriage like she belongs in the middle of it. Sometimes, I ain't even sure _I _belong in the middle of it."

Lucy swallowed hard. She didn't like to think about it, but sometimes, in the dark of night or when she was filling in a short-answer response on an exam at school, she thought about what it would be like if Dallas Winston served her with divorce papers. On the one hand, she wondered if she could really blame him. She'd been inattentive and irritable for months on end without offering him any explanation (when he deserved one, and she knew it). How could she expect him to put up with that?

But on the other hand – a hand she possessed but did not favor – she thought it would be a great embarrassment. That wasn't how it was supposed to go down. Ideally, it was supposed to be a marriage that lasted forever and weeded its way through all the rough patches. But if it _were _to go down (And each day, Lucy became increasingly nervous that it would.), Lucy always figured she would take Elenore and leave Dally in a blaze of righteous glory. She figured he would do something asinine, like kill a guy in a street fight or cheat on her with some woman or a group of women. That was how it was supposed to go down. It wasn't supposed to go down because Lucy was too afraid to tell her husband how empty and desperate she felt inside. It wasn't supposed to be _her _fault.

"If you don't want to go to the party, then you don't have to," Lucy said. "I'll just tell everyone you came down with something. Or I can tell them you slashed Tim Shepard's tires for old time's sake, so you're stuck at the station until further notice. I'll do whichever you prefer, _dear_."

Dally bit his tongue to keep from screaming at Lucy. He knew it wasn't a good idea to scream at her. Evidently, she was going through some secret emotional turmoil, and he didn't want to make it any worse by yelling it out of her. Since his talk with Lucy's father in October, Dally had been constantly anxious that Lucy would take Elenore and walk out on him because she was bored with her life in Tulsa – with her life above Great Books. He didn't want to say or do anything that might make that happen. When they were a little younger, maybe a month or two into his marriage, Dally found a journal of Ponyboy's that he thoughtlessly kept face-up on the couch. Because he'd been slicker then, Dally picked up the book and read it. Almost immediately, he noticed something rather odd yet rather true: Ponyboy thought Dally had a way of getting anything he wanted.

Since that day, Dally had been quite cognizant of Ponyboy's assessment and tried to hang onto the good things he had while trying to purge the bad ones. It seemed Pony was right – he had the power. And since that was the case, he certainly had the power to keep Lucy in her home – their home. But he also had the power to make her leave, and that terrified him, especially because the thought of her leaving always seemed to haunt him. Maybe there was something he could do to make her want to stay.

But what more _could _he do? He got a respectable job outside of the rodeo. He wore that _stupid fucking vest _everyday to make enough (not enough, but something) to support his wife and his baby. He read Lucy's books behind her back, and even though he didn't talk about them to her directly, she must have known he was reading them. Over the course of three short years, Dallas Winston had looked at every part of himself and tried to make it good enough for Lucy Bennet. And now, without doing anything to push her away, he was losing her. There was an emptiness somewhere inside of him – perhaps below his ribcage – that he hadn't felt since he was fourteen years old and decided to return to Tulsa.

As Lucy stood in front of him and said that she would cover for his absence at an anniversary party, all he wanted to do was reach out and hold her. All he wanted to do was tell her that there was no way in hell he'd miss a party that was for and about _them_. He wanted to tell her that he appreciated her so much and that she was so much more than just his wife. She was the woman he married. Evidently, he thought, there was a difference.

But he couldn't do any of that. After all, he was Dallas Winston, and no matter the strides he made – no matter the walls he struck down – he still needed to come out on top, looking cool.

"I'll be there," he said. He kept his voice gruff on purpose. "Don't gotta worry about me fuckin' things up for you."

"What does that even mean?" Lucy asked.

"I don't fuckin' know, man. I don't know what anything means anymore. Not with you. You wanna talk to me about it, or should I just go on guessin'?"

Lucy wanted more than anything to talk to her husband about _it_. She wanted to tell him that as much as she wanted to feel fulfilled and joyful when she looked at him and their daughter, she just couldn't make it work. She wanted to tell him that it didn't mean she didn't love them with all of her heart because she knew she did. There was just something that felt broken, wrong, and numb. She couldn't put her finger on it. She just knew that the person she was … was at odds with the person she assumed she needed to be. She wanted to ask him to be patient with her while she figured out what it meant to be Lucy Bennet in this new, daunting way.

But she couldn't do any of that. After all, she was Lucy Bennet, and no matter the strides she made – no matter the walls she struck down – she still needed to come out on top, looking strong.

"I'll tell Lynnie the party sounds like a great idea," she said, though she sounded far from enthused.

"Great. Fuckin' great."

Those were the last words Lucy and Dally spoke about the anniversary party until the hour they arrived. Because Lynnie was going steady with Darry (which felt odd to say, given they were twenty-three years old, and _steady _felt very adolescent), she had no problem locking down the Curtis place as the party's venue. As Lucy thanked her for setting the whole thing up (even though Lucy still didn't feel excited to be there), Lynnie asked her why it seemed like every party in their extended family needed to take place in the Curtis house. When she thought about it, Lucy smiled. It was a sad smile, of course. But it had been a long time since Lucy felt truly motivated to smile at all, and she had to celebrate what felt like a victory.

"I think it has something to do with the Curtis parents and their memory," Lucy said. "I only knew them for a few years, of course, but they never made me feel anything but welcome. Mrs. Curtis was especially good at that. One summer, when I was sixteen, Sadie and I were hanging out in the family room, right here. It was so hot we couldn't even sit up. When Mrs. Curtis came in, I begged her for a glass of water, and do you know what she did?"

"Did she get you a glass of water?"

"No. She smiled at me and said, 'Get your own, Lucy. Family gets their own water.'"

Lynnie laughed, and, much to her own surprise, so did Lucy. It didn't feel forced. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Lucy almost felt happy.

"It meant so much to me that she thought I was part of their family," Lucy said. "I mean, I was lucky. I had – _have _– my mom and dad. Most of the kids around here weren't that lucky. But to feel like I had Mrs. Curtis on my side, in addition to my own parents … that felt special. That felt like I was never going to feel hurt again. I can't explain it. I just know it's true."

Lynnie smiled. In the months since she and her son had moved to Tulsa and into the old neighborhood, she'd nearly been indoctrinated into the Curtis-parents mythos. They'd been sanctified, especially by Ponyboy, whom Lynnie spent a lot of time with when she and Darry stayed in (which was, of course, most nights). Obviously, she knew why the space and the memories meant everything to the brothers and to Sadie. Never in a lifetime would she have guessed that the space held equally strong memories for her own cousin.

"I think I'd have liked her," Lynnie said.

"I know you would have."

And in that moment, something clicked for Lucy. Perhaps, in a manner of speaking, she'd always known it without putting it into words. But now, the words were there, and she couldn't wait to let them roll off her tongue. It felt like a breakthrough – both that she finally put (some) of her feelings into words and that she was willing to share them with someone else. She excused herself from speaking with Lynnie and dashed away in search of someone else. Lynnie wasn't the right person to talk to about this discovery. Even though Lynnie was Lucy's closest and favorite cousin, she was not her sister.

Sadie was sitting on the (ancient) Curtis couch, in the spot where Soda used to lay his head when he slept in the living room all night, waiting for Ponyboy to come home from a late-night movie. It was November, and if you looked at her intently, you could almost tell she was four months pregnant. She sat next to Johnny, and though they were clasping each other's hands, they weren't talking to one another. Lucy wondered if that said more about love than a dialogue ever could.

As soon as Sadie saw Lucy standing over her with a harried expression on her face, she furrowed her brow and changed her focus.

"Lucy?" she asked. "What's wrong? Where's Dally?"

"He's in the kitchen with Two-Bit and Steve," Lucy said. "They're reminding him of how I proposed three years ago as though he could ever forget."

Sadie bit her lip and tried not to remember that night. It was November 9, 1965 – Dally's eighteenth birthday. To force Lucy and Dally to admit that they liked each other as people _and _as bodies, Sadie and Soda teamed up to dare Lucy into proposing. They never thought it would work, but they were thrilled when it did. Now Soda wasn't there in the kitchen with the other guys, reminiscing about the plan. It didn't feel fair.

It also wasn't fair to think about Soda on Lucy's anniversary when she seemed under duress. Accordingly, Sadie cleared her throat in the hopes that it would make her focus better.

"I need to talk to you," Lucy said. "Just you."

Sadie looked at Johnny as if to ask him if he would be OK on his own. Johnny nodded immediately.

"Go on," he said. "I ain't a lost little puppy. Think I can make my way around a party where I know everybody for a few minutes while my wife helps out her friend."

"Her _best _friend," Lucy said.

"How could I forget?"

Johnny squeezed Sadie's hand one last time before getting up from the couch and wandering into the kitchen with the rest of the guys. Once he was gone, Sadie turned to Lucy and grabbed both of her hands.

"OK, I'm here," Sadie said. "What's wrong?"

"Lynnie asked me why we have all of our parties here, in your old house," Lucy said. "And it didn't even take me long to answer. We have the parties here because of your parents. Especially your mom. It's like we're trying to keep them – _her _– alive."

It had been several years since Sadie Lou Curtis Cade had lost her parents. She'd gotten better at recounting the tale – tougher. But as she listened to Lucy talk about why that house still meant so much to them, she couldn't help but feel her eyes begin to mist over, just a little.

"And I kept thinking," Lucy said. "You don't need me to remind you of this, but your mom was incredible."

Sadie smiled.

"Yeah. She was."

"I mean, she was smart, and she was funny. Sometimes, she could be so _rough _with you and your brothers."

"Darry was always a little afraid of her. That's why he did so well in school, you know."

"Yeah, I know. But I … I just got to thinking. When I was a teenager, and I thought about the kind of mother I wanted to grow up and be – you know, if I had kids at all – I always wanted to be like your mother. My mother has her good points, but she's stuck in Austen times. Your mother, on the other hand … I couldn't help but always admire her. She stuck out her neck for the worst of us. She made a big deal over little things, like Ponyboy's 100% spelling tests or when Jane went through that phase where she only wanted to watch _Gunsmoke_."

"Yeah, that was weird."

"It was _so_ weird! But your mom never made anyone feel weird or bad. She loved all of us even when we didn't deserve it. And I figured that if I ever became a mom, then I'd follow her lead. And now that I am a mom, I …"

That was when Lucy did something she'd been too numb and too afraid to do before. She started to cry. It wasn't a pretty Hollywood cry like she had hoped it would be. Instead, Lucy gasped for breath and wished she could control herself. But she couldn't. Months of self-loathing and … something else, something with no name … were coming out, and Sadie was the only person who could catch them.

"I'm not going anywhere," Sadie said. "You can talk to me. I'm not going anywhere."

"I just feel so _dirty_, Sadie. And I know that's … I feel like I'm stuck here, and I hate myself for feeling stuck here. I thought I was going to be Lucy, but I think … I think I have to be Mama. And I just … I can't wrap my head around it. I want to be more than just Elenore's mom and Dallas Winston's wife, but I don't think I'm allowed to be. I don't know why I feel like this. I don't know why!"

She cried harder, and Sadie held her tighter. As Lucy cried, she thought perhaps Sadie wasn't the best person to confide in. After all, Sadie was four months pregnant with a baby she was thrilled to meet, and Lucy didn't want to scare her into thinking that motherhood must lead to disappointment and dissatisfaction. And, in truth, Sadie thought about that, too – for a moment. In the end, it didn't matter. Sadie was Sadie, and Lucy was Lucy. There was nothing Lucy could say that would change Sadie's mind about having and raising her baby.

But there was always something Lucy could say that would get Sadie to drop everything and hold her. This was one of those things.

"It's OK," Sadie said.

And it was OK. If Sadie hadn't believed that, she wouldn't have said it. Lucy had found herself in some upsetting situations before, and she'd always found her way out of them and into something better. This was no different.

Though, admittedly, Sadie worried: Was Lucy's _something better_, this time, her motivation to leave Tulsa? To leave Elenore and Dally?

Sadie couldn't think about that. It didn't seem right. She simply held Lucy close to her and waited for her tears to stop and her breath to calm.

* * *

_November 11, 1968_

_Dear Dally,_

_ Happy three years since you and Lucy got married on a dare set up by me and my sister! Sadie told me that Lucy's cousin's throwing you guys a party. I hope you have a little fun even though I know you and Im pretty sure you wont. But maybe you and Lucy can do something afterward thats more fun for the 2 of you._

_ Im a little worried about what you been writing in your letters but not too much. I dont like that Lucy seems to be distant from you and Elenore since I know your all such a sweet little family. Your gonna have to excuse me for calling you sweet. I cant help whats true and whats not and thats true Dally. Anyway I wish and wish that Lucy felt better or more like herself or what have you. But I dont think you gotta worry about her leaving you or nothing. Really. You know I think of your wife as my second sister so Id venture to say I know her pretty well. And I know how much she adores you. I know how much she adores your little girl too. Shed never leave. But I think you gotta listen to her dad a little on this one too. Lucy never stayed in the same place very long but shes been in Tulsa for six years because of her dad and because of us and because of you. Shes probably getting restless and that aint your fault. You just gotta talk to her. I know you say shes the one who wont talk to you and I get it. Shes a tough nut to crack. Ive always known that about her. But if you pester her enough times in a row she usually gives in and tells you whats what. I know you dont like to be a pest beacause it aint very tuff. But this is your wife on the line. You gotta learn how to be a little less tuff for her._

_ In the end I aint really sure what advice Im giving you. I just want you to know how much I still care about you all even when I cant see you. And Im trying to distract myself from the questions you asked. The ones about how Im doing._

_ Truth is Dally I dont know how Im doing. Sometimes I forget where I am. Sometimes it feels like I wake up and Im in my room. Darry's in the kitchen. Pony's on the couch reading some book or drawing or something he likes to do. But then I realize Im here. And I see guys I had a laugh with get hurt. Sometimes worse. And in the very second I think Im glad thats not me I think it could be me before I know it. I dont like to think about it. I dont like to write about it. And I know why your asking me. Really I do. But it aint your fault Im here. It aint your fault you didnt have to go and I did. You dont have to feel like you got something to prove to anybody. I know before I left I said sometimes I hate you and that wasnt right. I dont hate you. I was just scared out of my mind. Im still scared. But I shouldnt of taken it out on you._

_ Another truth is I dont like talking about what happens here beacause I dont want the info to get back to Jane or Sadie or Ponyboy. I know theyd just drop everything and try to pull me out even if it is against the law. Then again whats ever stopped any of us from breaking the law? Especially Jane … how many wallets do you suppose shes stolen from over the years huh? Gosh I miss her. Your so lucky to have Lucy by your side. I know it aint easy for you (or for her) but remind her of that. Remind her that you love what makes her Lucy. I dont know if that makes sense to you but if it does … tell her. Give Elenore my best. Im really looking forward to seeing her again. – Sodapop Curtis_

* * *

Like always, Jane Randle left her parents' house at eleven in the morning. Her mother was nearing the end of her shift at her first job (behind the counter at a doughnut shop in the neighborhood), and her father was well into his early-lunch beer on the couch, too engrossed in the television and in whatever contempt he had for his wife to even notice Jane. She wasn't working that day; nevertheless, she needed an escape. Her life had felt so small since Soda shipped out.

A part of her – the part of her that had been friends with Lucy Bennet since the eighth grade – knew that sounded wrong. Not so deep down, Jane knew she was an independent woman with a life and desires apart from the man she loved. That didn't change the fact that she _did _love Sodapop Curtis, and all her desires and interests meant that much more when she could go home and tell him about them. It seemed silly, but Jane really did enjoy shopping and fashion. She enjoyed piecing outfits together, and she enjoyed learning new things to do with makeup. It wasn't something she did to attract men, though she was fairly certain it hadn't hurt in finally getting Soda's attention. It made her feel like she was creative, somehow. She never told anyone, but when she was in high school, she fell in love with the studio-art class she was forced to take because home economics didn't fit into her schedule. At the time, it felt like the irony of ironies. The most maternal of the gang's girls wasn't taking classes in how to be a good mother. Instead, she was learning how to draw and paint … and she couldn't have loved it more. She wasn't bad at it, either. Her teacher had even said she could pursue art at the college level if she ever had the opportunity. Jane, of course, knew she could never afford something like that. She hadn't done very well in school in general, and if Darry couldn't swing the tuition with academic _and _athletic scholarships, then Jane wouldn't be able to do it, either. After all, she was just Jane.

Fashion, she supposed, reminded her of what could have been.

On what seemed like an average day in November, Jane left the house like always and took off for Jay's, where she'd been spending a lot of time (and money) since Soda had been gone. There was something about being there that made her feel … _something_. Maybe it was the fact that the milkshakes and cheeseburgers would always taste the same, which Jane appreciated in a life that offered her little consistency and little security. Maybe she liked that she recognized the staff more and more each time she walked in. Maybe she liked the fact that they always played the same songs. She was caught in a comfortable loop of chocolate cake, cheeseburgers, and Chubby Checker. At that point, she could tell the difference among all of his twists.

Maybe Jane just liked the idea of running into Violet Winston. She hung out at Jay's a lot, too, which Jane knew from when they were both children. As much as she thought they hated each other, Jane had to admit – Violet was the only person in the world who made her feel like she was important. After all, being a nemesis was better than being nothing.

That made her think of Ponyboy and the conversation they'd had after Sadie's disastrous birthday party. It wasn't a conversation Jane was particularly proud of. Though Ponyboy was seventeen (and at seventeen, Jane had felt like such a grown-up woman because she had Soda, something that seemed so foolish now), there were times when he seemed just like he did at the age of fourteen. He talked to Jane about how they were the only ones who understood. They were the only ones who felt like they had to compete for Soda's love, especially against Sadie. They were the only ones who knew what it was like to love Soda with all their hearts and feel like he'd never quite love them back in the same way. And the entire time Ponyboy spoke to Jane about his jealousy and his anxiety, Jane couldn't help but feel embarrassed for him. She couldn't believe he had the nerve to pull her aside and have such a selfish conversation. She couldn't believe it at all. It sounded …

It sounded exactly like the conversation she'd tried to rope Lilly into months earlier.

She'd never properly apologized to Lilly for putting her in that situation. Evidently, she knew she never would. Jane was just _that much _proud, and it got in the way of her friendships. It explained why she hadn't even properly congratulated Sadie on her pregnancy, and it had been four months already. At the time, it hadn't seemed right. It hadn't seemed to right to celebrate Sadie's baby when Soda so would have loved to be there with her.

Jane hadn't expected her brother to walk through the door that day, but when she did, she was glad to see him. Since Steve had been back from Vietnam, the two of them had been making a few attempts, here and there, to be closer. Sometimes, those attempts worked, like when they snuck out to buy Chips Ahoy cookies together, hiding them from their old man who ate anything he could get his hands on (easily, of course). But since Sadie's birthday party, things had been icy between the two of them. Jane told herself she wasn't sure why. When she smiled at Steve and flagged him down to join her, she was in the deepest denial of her week.

"Should've expected you'd be here," Steve said. "Feels like you don't go anywhere else these days."

"It's nice here."

"It's a dump, Janie. Rusty's is nice."

He paused.

"Did ya ever stop to think at how funny that is? _Rusty's _sounds terrible, like you could catch any disease in there. And yet …"

"And yet, it's where the Socs go."

"Yeah."

They were quiet for a long time before Jane was finally brave enough to break the silence.

"I feel like you've been avoiding me," she said. "Like I did something wrong, but I don't know what it was."

Steve scoffed as though her confusion was childishly obvious. Off his look, Jane furrowed her (still brunette) brow.

"Should I know what I did?" Jane asked.

"Of course," Steve said. "And y'already know, so don't pretend."

"I don't …"

"Ya ruined Sadie's birthday party, and ya didn't even say you were _sorry_."

In truth, Jane knew that was why Steve was so angry with her. She was angry with herself for exactly the same reason. But that didn't mean she wanted to talk about it. She figured Sadie would put it aside, like she'd put aside Lucy's arrogant behavior when they were teenagers.

_When they were teenagers_. Yes, everything felt so possible then.

"I don't believe this," Jane said. "You're the one who stood up for me after Dally yelled at me in front of everyone!"

"Yeah, 'cause it ain't his place to put my kid sister in her place. It's mine."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know I was territory to be marked."

"Ah, come on, Jane. You gotta know you were way outta line."

Jane bowed her head. She knew Steve was right, but she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of admitting it in front of him.

"You should be standing up for me no matter what," Jane said. "We're brother and sister. It's our job."

"Yeah, but Soda's my best friend. And you made his sister feel like dog shit on her own birthday. And the way you embarrassed Johnny …"

"Oh, how did I embarrass Johnny?"

"You fuckin' know. You said the only reason Sadie let him knock her up was because she was thinkin' about her own brother the whole time."

"I _never _said that!"

"Don't matter. We all know what ya meant."

Once more, Jane bowed her head. Steve, as it turned out, wasn't exactly wrong. Where had Jane's head been that night? Why had she said such awful things to these people she loved?

"Well, here we go again," Jane said. "Everyone chooses Sadie and her feelings over me and mine. Even my own brother takes Sadie's side."

"There are no fuckin' sides. Soda ain't just my best friend, ya know."

"Should I book a church?"

"He's my family. And that means Sadie's my family."

"What about me?"

"What do you _mean_, what about you? You're my damn sister. You're family whether I want ya to be or not. And sometimes, like right now, I wish it was a big ole _not_."

And even though her older brother had just insulted her, and she felt terrible for having embarrassed Sadie and Johnny at Sadie's twentieth birthday celebration, Jane Randle couldn't help but smile. She knew, now. Everything was beginning to make sense.

"And if Sadie's your family, and I'm your family …" Jane said, " … Doesn't that make me and Sadie something like…?"

"Sisters? Yeah, sure, whatever. Anything to get ya to say you're really sorry and all that."

But Jane couldn't stop smiling. It finally made sense. There was no hierarchy – no competition. Soda didn't need to love her or Sadie more because he had to love them the same. They were so much more than a group of friends. They were family. They were family, and Sadie and Jane were sisters. They'd always been sisters.

It was Sadie who was there to invite Jane into her home so she could watch the _Peter Pan _musical on TV when they were eleven years old. It was Sadie who went shopping with her even when Jane knew she'd rather be anywhere else. It was Sadie who knew where Jane went to cry and compose herself when she was in high school, and Soda broke it off with her for what he thought was Steve's sake. Before Jane even knew herself very well (and she was still getting to know herself), she knew Sadie Curtis. Sadie had been such a constant in her life that she'd begun to take her for granted. But that was foolish. Sadie wasn't her adversary. She was her sister, and sisters were a team.

She dismissed herself from the table with Steve and headed straight for Sadie and Johnny's house. Though she wasn't certain they would be home, something in her heart knew it would all work out. She was too excited to tell Sadie how she really felt.

* * *

As it turned out, that feeling in Jane's heart was true. Sadie and Johnny _were _home, and they were surprised to see Jane (whom Sadie had been avoiding) in their doorway. When Johnny answered the door, he looked terrified to see her – like she was going to ruin things for them all over again.

"Wh – what are you doin' here?" he asked, almost closing the door on Jane's face.

"Hi, Johnny," she said. "Don't shut me out. I'm here to talk to Sadie … and you, a little, if we're being honest."

"Be honest all ya want. I don't think Sadie wants to see ya."

Jane would have smiled if she weren't so determined to see Sadie and tell her all about how she was feeling. It was good to see Johnny so assertive. Perhaps he'd been spending more meaningful time with Lucy and Dally in preparation for the baby. Jane wouldn't know. Lucy and Dally had been freezing her out, too.

"I know that," Jane said. "But I'm here because I had a really, really important breakthrough at Jay's today, and I really need to tell her about it."

"Look, Jane, I don't wanna push you around, but I think ya may have lost your shot at Sadie for awhile now."

"Johnny," Sadie called out. Jane couldn't see her, but she knew she was there. That was all that mattered.

"Johnny," she said again. "Let Jane in."

As a giving (and ultimately forgiving) husband, Johnny stepped aside and let Jane inside the new Cades' tiny, tiny house. Sadie sat on the couch, reading a home magazine in preparation for the baby's arrival. When she locked eyes with Jane, she nearly smiled.

"Hi, Jane," she said. "What brings you here?"

"Well, I'm sure you heard me outside," Jane said. "I had an important breakthrough earlier today, and I needed to share it with you."

"Well, go on, then. Nothin' stoppin' you."

Jane nodded. She hadn't expected Sadie to be so direct.

"First of all, I just wanted to say that I am so, so sorry for embarrassing you at the party," Jane said. "Both of you."

Johnny sat down on the couch and took his wife's hand. Jane noticed, and though a small part of her heart twitched with jealousy because Soda couldn't be there to hold her hand, the majority of her heart was filled with great love. That was how you were supposed to feel when your sister was happy. She knew that now.

"There's no excuse for the way I acted," Jane said. "I can explain it. I was upset because it was Soda's birthday, and he's off fightin' in some fight he doesn't even understand or believe in. I couldn't stand the fact that if he was there, he would have cared more about celebrating alongside you, his twin sister, than he would have cared about being alongside me, his girlfriend."

"Jane …"

"That's my explanation. But it's not an excuse. I was selfish, and I was rude. And I'm never going to act like that again because it didn't make anybody feel good in the end. Not even me. I been carryin' around this mess for weeks, and I felt like I was gonna keel over at any second."

"Jane," Sadie said. "Stop. All I was gonna say is _thank you_."

Johnny nodded and squeezed Sadie's hand harder.

"Me too," he said.

Jane felt like she would burst into tears. She never anticipated their reunion going so smoothly. Of course, she felt fairly certain there were plenty more months and years to be had, trying to figure out exactly where they all fit into each other's lives now that they were getting older and forging new families to blend together with their one big family. But she never would have expected Sadie to forgive her so quickly.

Then again, they were family.

"But then I talked to Steve," Jane said. "And he made me realize that none of us have been just friends since … well, maybe ever. We're family. And Sadie …"

Even though Jane would never say it out loud, she began to cry as she spoke directly to Sadie that day.

"Sadie, you're my sister," Jane said.

And she wasn't sure what she had been expecting. She wasn't sure if she had expected Sadie to kick her out or scream at her, like she (perhaps) deserved. But Sadie didn't do anything like that. She looked at Jane, and she smiled.

Sadie thought back to a time when she and Jane were in the seventh grade. They'd been made to write book reports on _Frankenstein_, which, in retrospect, didn't seem like the most appropriate book for kids in seventh grade. Since Sadie was advanced in English and language arts, she and Jane had stayed up all night trying to work on the best book report that Jane could possibly turn in. Sadie asked her a lot of good questions, like the theme of the novel and what Jane thought it was trying to tell the readers about the world, both back then and in the present day. It was the most fun Jane had ever had working on a school assignment before. When the teacher came into the classroom and asked everyone to pass their book reports to the front, Jane realized she forgot to put her name on the top of her paper. She quickly scrawled something at the top.

Sadie, who sat next to Jane in class, leaned over and smiled at her.

"You did a really good job writing, Jane!" she said.

Jane grinned. As the teacher went by the collect Jane's book report, she looked at the top and smiled a bit.

"That's funny," she said, but only loud enough so that Jane and Sadie could hear it. "I hadn't realized you were adopted."

"Adopted?" Jane asked. "No, unfortunately, I'm the real-live daughter of Don and Jeannie Randle."

"You might want to check the top of your book report, then."

The teacher pointed to Jane's name on the paper. Sure enough, there it was, in perfectly penciled printing: Jane Curtis.

Sadie saw it, too. And though she felt that Jane was slightly embarrassed (After all, everyone in class knew how big of a crush Jane had on Sodapop Curtis, and it seemed she was already marrying herself off to him.), Sadie considered it an honor. She'd always wanted a sister. More than that, she'd always wanted it to be Jane.

All these years later, Sadie was glad to know it was still true.

"I know," she said, looking at Jane and seeing her exactly as she had when they were thirteen years old. "And sisters fight about stupid things. They do stupid things to each other all the time."

"I guess so. Sadie, I'm so, so sorry. Not just for your birthday but for the way I've been actin' since Soda."

"Thank you, Jane."

It would be wrong to say that Sadie and Jane would never have another issue. It would be wrong to say that neither woman ever felt jealous of the other again, especially as their relationships continued to change and grow. But no matter the tension between them, they never felt quite as distant ever again. After all, it was very difficult to feel too distant from a sister.

After a little while of catching up, Jane left, hoping to find Lucy or Steve to apologize to one of them, too. Johnny turned to Sadie, who (for the first time in a long time) looked to be at peace.

"You OK?" he asked, but he knew the answer.

"I'm more than OK," Sadie said. "I missed Jane."

"I know. Hey, maybe if that baby turns out to be a girl, we can name her after Jane."

"Are you kidding?"

"Well, I was thinkin'. If it's a boy, we were gonna name him after Soda, and Jane is Soda's girl, so wouldn't it make sense?"

"When Lucy was pregnant with Elenore, we immediately ruled out Jane 'cause we knew Jane would never let it go. I love her, but there are some lines that just can't be crossed. Besides, if Lucy found out I was naming my child after Jane before I considered naming my child after her, we'd have another blood bath on our hands, which no one wants."

"I hear ya."

"Besides, I'm not so sure we should name our son Patrick, anyway."

Johnny furrowed his brow at his wife.

"But you always said …"

"I know what I always said. And after Soda wrote to me a little while back, I got to thinking. I don't need to prove that he and I are close. He's my twin brother, and there's really not much closer you can get than that. If I want to give my son a different name – pay a different tribute to someone who feels a little undervalued in our family – then I should. And I do want to, Johnny. I really do."

And although Johnny already knew exactly what Sadie would say, he asked her, anyway.

"What name did ya have in mind?"

Sadie grinned. She didn't have any reservations. It was the best name she could have come up with (and, in truth, had come up with even before Soda's suggestion).

"I was thinkin' we could call him Michael. You know, after …"

"Pony," Johnny finished. "Right."

And although Sadie already knew exactly what Johnny would say, she asked him, anyway.

"What do you think of it?"

Johnny almost grinned.

"I think it's a great idea."

They decided they wouldn't tell Ponyboy before their son was born (if he ended up being a son at all). Even though he and his sister were having a rough go of it since Soda had been in Vietnam, they still wanted it to be a surprise. He needed something to look forward to, even if he didn't know it yet. As his big sister who loved him and taught him to read, Sadie was thrilled to give him that. In the end, there was almost nothing Sadie was better at than being a sister.

* * *

_November 26, 1968_

_Dear Darry,_

_ Happy Thanksgiving! Well happy 2 days before it anyway. Hope you and Pony and everybody are taking it easy for the holliday. Some of us have been singing Christmas songs to make up for the fact that we aint gonna be home to see you all. Nobody's exactly Bing Crosby over here. Though I do have to admit my version of White Christmas is pretty good. The guys here would say Im lying about that but you know how much I love to sing even if I aint good at it._

_ Hows the girl? Lynnie? I know you said you been really seeing her for a few months and you really like her kid. I wish I could meet both of them right now but Im excited to meet them when I get back home. Hope you told them good things about your incredibbly handsome brother whos far away. Is she coming over for Thanksgiving? Does she make any food? Tell her she can bring whatever she wants as long as we get to keep the corn pudding. I know shes from the East Coast or what have you but I dont want no fancy cranberrys at my Thanksgiving. Ive got a friend here from the same state your girl is from and he says they love cranberry sauce. Cranberry sauce! Can you belive it Darry?_

_ But I know you and youll let your girl have her cranberry sauce if she wants it. Your a good guy that way and I know based on your letters about her that you love her. I know this is probably pretty quick but I just wanted to say this. Dont ask her to marry you. At least dont ask her yet. When I get back I wanna ask Jane to marry me and I dont want us to get married at the same time cause then wed be all distracted. Plus I wanna be there if ya do decide to marry her. Not cause I think I gotta approve of her or nothing but cause your my brother. You done so much for me. I wanna be there for you. Then again guess I dont know if that's what ya got planned but if it is I wanna be there. Its been too hard to be here. Partly thats cause nobody wants to be in a war even if they sign up for it. I belive that. But mostly cause I hate being away from all of you. We hardly ever left our street when we were just kids. Sometimes Mom and Dad would take us into the country but we were never there long. And we always came back. But Johnny and Steve and Two-Bit … they never left. We all been stuck to our homes since we were born pretty much. And now their forcing us to move out and go somewhere none of us want to go. Sometimes I wake up and Im scared. Sometimes I wake up and all I want is to be in our house._

_ I wanna tell you what Im going thru here Darry and I will in this letter. But you gotta promise me you aint gonna tell Pony or Sadie or Jane even if it scares you. Even if they ask. In fact keep the letter far away from them. It hurts enough to know I gotta be away from them. I dont want them to know how bad it can really be. Make me that promise OK?_

* * *

On Thanksgiving Day, 1968, Lucy Bennet dressed her daughter in an itchy blue dress to go to her parents' house for dinner.

"Don't like it," Elenore said and tried to squirm her way out of the dress.

"I know you don't like it," Lucy said. "But your grandmother will like it, and she's very particular about the way things look. That's why I tried so hard to grow up and leave her house. So I could make things look the way I wanted them to."

She wrinkled her nose. Was that true? Was that a breakthrough of her own? She shook her head and dismissed it. There was no time to think about a thing like that.

"You'll be out of the dress in no time," Lucy said. "Mama promises."

_Mama promises_. It seemed natural to refer to herself by her new name – not preferred, but natural nonetheless.

After she finished zipping Elenore into the baby blue contraption that the baby girl so loathed, the apartment door swung open, and Dally walked through it. He was dressed like Dally – T-shirt, dirty jeans, and his leather jacket. Lucy frowned when she saw him.

"What are you wearing?" she asked. "I told you my mother wanted you to wear the shirt she sent over. The one that used to be my father's."

She motioned toward the closet where Dally's nicer shirt still hung. He shook his head.

"What does that mean?" Lucy asked. "Are you coming up here to get changed? Because if so, I wanna watch."

She walked over to her husband and kissed his cheek. He didn't respond, and she panicked.

"What's going on?"

Dally shook his head one more time. Lucy had anticipated what he was going to say next, but she didn't anticipate just how much it would sting.

"I ain't goin' to your folks' house."

It felt like Lucy could fall through the floor and die. It was hypocritical, and she knew that. For months on end, she'd been denying Dally the love, respect, and attention he had grown to deserve so much of. She'd been forgetting about him so she could focus on herself – the person she'd thought she'd lost. But in that time she spent worrying that she was only living for her husband, she forgot to live for him at all. There was no balance in Lucy's world. Now, she feared she could never find it.

"What do you mean?" she asked. Her voice was smaller than she could ever remember.

"I mean I ain't goin'," Dally said. "Just tell 'em I had to work at the last minute or somethin'. They'll understand."

"They'll understand, and they'll buy it. But I won't. I'll know the truth. That you really stayed here instead of spending Thanksgiving with your wife and your daughter."

"I might not stay here. Might head over to Darry's. But maybe I won't. Ya know, and this might come as a shock to ya, Bennet, but I never really liked Thanksgiving. Somethin' about people gettin' together with their families just never appealed to me. Or is it _applied _to me? I get those words confused."

Lucy tried not to glare at him. She also tried not to reach out and kiss him. Even if it was full of spite, she couldn't resist a good play on words, especially not out of her clever husband's mouth.

"You've always been with my parents on Thanksgiving," Lucy said. "That's tradition. They're expecting you."

"And I expect to see you here, when it's Elenore's bedtime, but that's becomin' less and less important to ya, ain't it?"

Lucy grabbed Elenore's hand and held it tightly. She wasn't sure if her daughter could fully comprehend (or comprehend at all) the conversation she was having with her husband. It didn't matter. In that moment, for the first time in months, Lucy felt motivated and passionate enough to defend her child without thinking of herself first. When she grabbed Elenore's hand, she finally felt something again. It was the feeling – not just the action or the fact – of love.

"That was once," Lucy said. "I have _always _been there since then, and you know it."

"Doesn't fuckin' matter. Ya missed it once. That's enough. She was lookin' for ya. Do you have any idea how fuckin' hard it was to tell her I didn't know where you were? That I didn't even know if you …"

He stopped. He didn't need to carry on. Though he and Lucy had recently been at odds, they'd never quite lost their ability to see eye to eye.

"Anyway, I ain't goin'," Dally said and kicked off his boots. "You can tell your folks whatever you need to."

Lucy felt herself want to cry, but she knew she needed to hold it together in front of Dally. She needed him to know that he couldn't break her (even if he could). She would certainly cry in private, either in her childhood bedroom, in front of her father, or in front of Sadie, but she couldn't do it here. With Dally, it was always important to stand her ground and act like nothing could touch her.

At least, that was what she'd always believed.

"Will you be here when I get back?" she asked. She felt her voice crack and hated herself for it. It wasn't crying, but it was, for Lucy, almost as vulnerable … almost as _bad_.

Dally shrugged.

"I already told you I don't know, so don't make me decide right now. I don't make you decide where you're gonna be after your classes. I used to know. Now, you could be anywhere, and you ain't even botherin' to call."

Lucy held onto Elenore tighter. If there was one thing she wanted her sweet daughter to understand, it was that nothing had ever been her fault. No matter what happened between her parents, they loved her and wanted what was best for her.

But inside, Lucy found herself gasping a little. She knew what that sounded like. It sounded like the cut-and-dried divorce speech she'd planned for an older Elenore if Dally ever left them – if Elenore never even had the chance to meet him. It had been so long since she'd thought about that speech. Even in the midst of her … whatever _this _was … she'd never let her mind wander quite that far. It took Dally refusing to join her on Thanksgiving to get her to realize how close she was to losing him.

It didn't feel like she was a bad woman. It didn't feel like she was a bad feminist. It simply felt like she was a person … adrift in a world that was making less sense everyday … losing her partner because she was pushing him away, just as she had when they were children.

Were they not still children?

What had she done to save them then? Her mind wandered to the night of her eighteenth birthday, when Dally had interpreted her words as a rejection. They had a history of not quite communicating properly. Lucy had to punch Buck Merril in the gut the last time just to get upstairs and face Dally. What could she do now? What did she need to do?

What was worth it anymore?

Elenore grabbed her hand tightly, and she knew. _That _was worth it. If nothing else was worth it, Elenore Winston would always be.

"I …" Lucy said, but it was all she could manage.

"Save your breath, babe," Dally said. "You're runnin' late. I know how your ma freaks if you ain't there on time."

Lucy cleared her throat, grabbed Elenore, and grabbed her keys. Before she left, she turned around, looked Dally in the eye, and tried to plead with him.

"What happened to us?" she asked. It hurt her throat to say it. It hurt her heart to know the answer.

"I don't know," Dally said. "You won't tell me."

That was fair. So, Lucy opened the door and went down the stairs. As much as she wanted to look back, she couldn't. Her pride was still intact, and she didn't want Dally to know that he had won.

And yet, they weren't the ones at war.

* * *

**Well, there's a relatively quick update for you (if you're out there, that is)! I was really excited to get this out, as it's (more than likely) my last chapter before I start my new job on Monday! Then again, I wrote more when I was teaching last semester, so who knows what my schedule will look like?**

**This chapter is dialogue-heavy, which I hope is somewhat enjoyable! I always feel like my stories have too much dialogue, but it's the thing I like best and therefore the thing I've always been best at. So, here's a lot speaking! It's also really hard to equally balance such a large cast of characters, so if it feels like some gaps are missing … they are. I have tons of plans to fill them in.**

**Hinton owns **_**The Outsiders**_**. I'm not sure if I have to explain any of my references here since I think they're pretty mainstream (Chubby Checker and **_**Gunsmoke**_** included). Five more chapters after this one!**


	11. Chapter 11

In the weeks leading up to Christmas in 1968, Lucy sold more books at Great Books than she had in months. She had three or four customers every half hour, which was about double the amount of customers she had on an average business day. One Friday afternoon, a young girl, about the age of sixteen, came into the store and pulled a copy of _Pride and Prejudice _from the shelf. She must have noticed Lucy looking at her selection because she walked right up to the counter, book in hand.

"Excuse me," the girl said. "What's this book about?"

Lucy almost smiled, but she couldn't quite bring herself there. It had been two weeks since Thanksgiving, when Dally refused to join her at her parents' house because he didn't think Lucy wanted him there … because he couldn't stand to be around this version of Lucy who didn't talk to him. Once upon a time, Lucy would have laughed about how she was Elizabeth, and her husband was Mr. Darcy. And she thought she hated him, but that hatred turned out to be love. And they ended up together. And in their own, strange, tough way, they learned how to be happy. But none of that seemed to be true anymore. They weren't happy. They weren't miserable. At the moment, they weren't anything.

"It's a thinly veiled allegory for the role of economics in early nineteenth-century marriage," Lucy said. "The question is whether or not love has any place in marriage."

"Oh," the girl said. She looked disappointed. Surely she'd heard the myth of Elizabeth and Darcy, the sweetest couple in pre-Victorian literature. Then, her eyes lit up again.

"Does it? In the book, I mean."

And a year earlier, Lucy would have said yes. She would have said that money had its place, but love was the key element in a successful marriage. But alas, it was December 1968, and she and her husband were barely speaking. Things felt different (if they felt any way at all).

"I don't know," Lucy said. "The book ends before they get married, and we never have a chance to find out."

The girl frowned.

"Oh," she said again. "Well, do you recommend it?"

Lucy shrugged.

"Sure."

What should have been the most passionate sale of her short career as a bookseller was the most dispassionate. Lucy wouldn't even recognize it until much later.

Once the girl left, Lucy turned to Elenore, who stood across the room, pawing at Modernist poetry again. Since Thanksgiving Day, when Dally refused to accompany his wife and daughter to dinner with Dr. and Mrs. Bennet, one thing had changed. Lucy had felt closer to her daughter than she had in a long, long time. She'd stopped going to Randy Adderson's meetings as often as she once did. Lucy had always known that Randy's meetings were fairly foolish and completely chauvinistic, but she had gone to them so she could escape. She had gone to them so she could criticize something that wasn't the baby's temperature or the way Dally left his boots in the middle of the room for anyone to trip over in the middle of the night. But the minute Lucy reconnected with Elenore, the less she found she needed something else in her life. She had plenty to live for, including (and not including) her daughter.

"You still like Eliot, baby girl?" Lucy called to her baby from across the room.

Elenore turned around and beamed at her mother. Lucy's heart glowed with love and pride. She couldn't have been more excited about it. It was the first time in months she'd felt that way about anyone. She felt so lucky that the first person her heart opened up to again was her baby girl.

"I think you're almost ready for Woolf," Lucy said. "You'll like her. She can never finish a sentence, and at this point in your linguistic development, neither can you."

"Mama!"

"Yes, that's me. I'm glad you still know me, Elenore, and I'm glad you're calling out for me. But there's something you should know. Just saying _Mama _doesn't constitute a sentence."

Elenore did not seem to care. She simply stood across the room from her mother and smiled. It was almost like she knew that Lucy had spent the past few months feeling distant from her, and she was trying to make up for it. That filled Lucy with incredible dread. She didn't want Elenore to grow up as the kind of kid who thought it was her job to make her mother happy. That was the last thing Lucy wanted, as she felt that way about her mother when she was a kid. Mrs. Bennet used to get so angry when Lucy would bring a book to a family function or crack her knuckles in public. Lucy hated to see her angry, so she would purposely put herself into situations where she knew her mother would be proud of her for something. It was miserable and hellish, and Lucy had been trying to find a way out for years. She didn't want to pass that anxiety onto Elenore.

As Elenore stood across the store, smiling and waving like she had no idea what emotional turmoil her mother was going through, Lucy wondered what it would be like once Elenore was older. Would she like her mother? Would she resent her in the same way Lucy found herself resenting Mrs. Bennet? Would Elenore remember this time in their lives when Lucy was distant and almost cold? Lucy couldn't know. However, just because she couldn't know didn't mean she wasn't picturing a teenaged Elenore, walking around outside with a bottle in a paper bag until the crack of dawn because she wanted her mother's attention – something like revenge for that period of time when Elenore wasn't quite two. Lucy shook her head and tried to focus on the sweet girl in front of her. The present mattered. She didn't have control over it, which was difficult for Lucy to admit, but it was all she had.

"How're you doing, Elenore?" she asked.

"Good," Elenore said.

That wasn't necessarily indicative of the way she felt. She was twenty months old. She didn't know how to verbalize all the nuances of emotion. But when Lucy saw the smile on her face – the one that said, "I'm so glad to spend some time with you, Mama" – she figured maybe Elenore _did _know what she was talking about.

"You want me to come over there and read to you?" Lucy asked. "It just occurred to me we haven't done a lot of Virginia Woolf time."

"Ah-wooh!"

Lucy laughed. She must have understood at least one of those words from when Dally taught her animal sounds. A few weeks ago, she'd walked in to find Dally on the floor with their daughter, asking her what sound a dog makes. But that was then. These days, Dally was the one pulling away from his daughter. Lucy hated him for that. She understood that he was angry with her, but that didn't mean he needed to take it out on Elenore. Poor Elenore must have felt so abandoned in those long weeks. For months, her dad had been the only person she knew she could depend on, and all of a sudden, he was gone without being gone. If Lucy had been less obstinate about her disagreements with Dally, she would have handed him a piece of her mind about that. But alas, both spouses wanted to win the war they had created out of thin air, and no one was moving.

"Bring a book over," Lucy said. "I think you'd like_ The Waves_."

Lucy stood back for a moment as Elenore combed the Modernist section for a book. She would have helped, but it would be too cute if Elenore ended up pulling the correct book from the shelf, just as she had (without realizing it) with the Sassoon collection for Soda.

But they never got to _The Waves_. Before they could read, Darry, Lynnie, and Jimmy burst through the door with big smiles on their faces. Darry held a brown paper bag in his hands, and Lynnie looked like she was going to scream. Lucy wondered if he'd proposed and hoped he hadn't. Soda had been writing everyone lately, begging Darry not to propose until he got home. If Darry hadn't listened, then it would have felt like a jinx.

"We've got a surprise for you!" Lynnie shouted.

Lucy sighed. Great. Here was the jinx.

But when Lynnie removed her gloves, Lucy noticed no engagement ring (And she knew there would have been one, as Mrs. Curtis left her mother's engagement ring to Darry, figuring he would be the first of her sons to marry.). Instead, Darry took something much different out of that paper bag – a 45 by a band called The Turtles.

"What's that?" Elenore asked, and everyone had to laugh. There was nothing sweeter than watching a little one learn how to join a conversation.

"Good question, Elenore," Darry said. "Me and your cousins were walkin' around the music store, tryin' to find this record for your Aunt Jane …"

"And all of a sudden, this song came on!" Lynnie was still squealing. "Lucy, do you know about The Turtles?"

"I know that they're green and slow," Lucy said. "And I know there's a band that put out some song last year … 'I can't see me loving nobody but you ... 'ba-da-ba-ba!' I don't really know the words."

"Well, they put out a new song a few months ago, and somehow, we all missed it. You got a record player in here?"

"In the corner."

"Thanks, Lucy," Darry said and made his way over to the record player. As he messed with it, Lynnie turned to her cousin excitedly.

"You're gonna love this song," she said. "You can ask Jimmy and Darry. I just about fell over when I heard what they were singing."

"It's true," Jimmy said. "You know how excited my mommy gets about stuff."

"Oh, boy, do I," Lucy said. "Listen, Lynn, this isn't some elaborate way of telling me that you and Darry are getting married, is it?"

"No way!" Lynnie said. "We've only been together a few months. Besides, he said he doesn't want to pop any questions until Soda's here to see him do it. That's what I like about him. The commitment to his family."

"Yeah."

But Lucy couldn't stop thinking about Dally. There was a time when she believed he'd learned how to be committed to a family. He'd gotten a semi-respectable job at the grocery store, he stayed up with Elenore when she wasn't feeling well, and he supported Lucy through her studies. Now, it was like he barely existed … like he was slipping back into old, vengeful habits.

It was easy to forget once Lucy heard the song that Lynnie and Darry got for her.

_"You've got a thing about you / I just can't live without you / I really want you, Elenore, near me …"_

Lucy's eyes lit up, and so did Elenore's.

"Seriously?" Lucy asked.

"Seriously," Lynnie said. "I know you were pretty upset when the only song with your daughter's name in it was …

"'Eleanor Rigby.' How depressing."

"Yes, yes, exactly. But, Darry, show Lucy the best part."

"Will do!"

Darry hurried over to Lucy and showed her the slipcover for the record. Sure enough, in big print, it said her baby girl's name: _Elenore_. Lucy had to laugh at that one. Oh, did it feel good to laugh. It had been so long since she laughed like she meant it, and that laugh helped her to breathe again.

"Well!" she said. "I guess we know how to tell the doctor's office to spell her name now."

"I couldn't believe it when I saw it," Lynnie said. "At first, I thought that was just a crazy way to spell the name, but now, it's like you started a trend without even knowing it!"

Lucy looked at Elenore, who was swaying side to side with the mellow music in the backdrop. Every time they sang her name, she lit up like a firefly.

"El-nore!" she said. "El-nore!"

"Yes, that's you!" Lucy said and scooped her up from the ground. "Do you like hearing your name in a song?"

"Yes!"

"Me too. My name's in a few songs. Some of them are debatably about hallucinogenic drugs. But who cares about me? My baby's name is in a _song_!"

She whirled around in a circle with Elenore in her arms. It was the first time in months when Lucy thought that being a mother was enough to sustain her. In her younger and (even) more selfish days, she thought her father was insane when he told her there was nothing better than giving back to another person. But when she saw Elenore smile with all her might each time the song sang her name, she knew he had been right. There was nothing better than seeing Elenore happy. There was nothing better than seeing Elenore.

"We're definitely gonna buy a copy of this one," Lucy said, more to Elenore than to anyone else.

"Already done," Darry said as he removed another brown paper bag from the inside of his leather. "Merry early Christmas, girls."

Lucy took the package and smiled at Darry. For a flicker of a moment, she realized she hadn't quite appreciated her best friend's oldest brother enough. After all, on the night of her eighteenth birthday, when she finally got a hold of her feelings for Dallas Winston, Darry was the one who gave her the keys to the car to go get him. A small part of her wanted to blame Darry for the trouble she and Dally were going through now. But Lucy wasn't that jaded, despite how often she wanted to be. Instead, she knew to thank Darry for handing her the keys to the car that night. Without his help, there was every chance that Lucy (and Dally) wouldn't have Elenore. And that, now that Lucy had been asleep for a while, would have been a nightmare.

"Thank you," Lucy said, smiling at Darry in a way he didn't quite understand. "It's perfect."

"So perfect!" Lynnie said and clapped her hands together. "Should we play it again?"

"I like it," Jimmy said, and Lynnie squeezed his shoulder. "Elenore?"

"Like it," Elenore repeated.

"Good enough for me," Lucy said. "Play it again!"

Darry started the song over, and as soon as he did, Dally walked through the front door of Great Books. His _stupid fucking vest _was balled up in his fist, and he made every effort not to make eye contact with anyone in the room. Though he tried to push past the crowd (his _family_), Lynnie, who pretended to be unaware of the tension between Lucy and Dally, pulled him into the conversation.

"Hey, Dally!" Lynnie said. "Listen! This song's called 'Elenore.' Like your baby!"

"Huh," Dally said. He tried to push past Lynnie, but she wasn't having it.

"And there's more," she said. "The title of the song is spelled exactly like her name. Your spelling mistake turned out to be trendy!"

In another place and time, Dally probably would have snarled at Lynnie – something about how he didn't care about being trendy and didn't care about her. The truth, however, was that he did care. He cared so much that he could almost taste it. Caring, of course, wasn't cool, and if he wanted to win this useless fight with Lucy, then he would have to keep his cool. He knew that was how to win against her, and he wasn't going to let her win this one. He couldn't – not after Lucy missed Elenore's bedtime.

"Yeah," he said. "Cool."

Finally, he managed to push past Lynnie and toward the stairs. When she saw him heading for their apartment door, Lucy darted toward her husband. It was a rare burst of energy (not of love, as she always loved him, more than nearly anyone in the world) that she had not felt in weeks. Elenore bounced in her arms, but she made sure to hold onto her tightly. She looked at Dally with a kind of playful look in her eye. She knew because it hurt her eyes to strain them like that. Even though Lucy was feeling a little better, she knew she couldn't cure herself immediately.

"Where are you going?" Lucy asked. Her voice was hopeful, almost as though she didn't remember that they were going through a hard time.

Dally shrugged.

"Dunno," he said. "You care?"

But Lucy didn't have time to answer. Dally pushed past her (in part because he wanted to, and she let him), and walked upstairs without a word.

Ironically, Lucy hummed under her breath, trying to ignore Lynnie and Darry's concerned eyes, branding their gazes on her skin.

"_We need a little Christmas right this very minute …"_

* * *

_December 10, 1968_

_Dear Jane,_

_ What's that Christmas song Lucy likes to sing? The one that goes "It hasnt snowed a single flurry Santa were all in a hurry?" I got it stuck in my head. I been thinking about you all more and more now that its Christmas. I cant ever think of a time when I didnt see you on Christmas. Now I wont be anywhere near you. I dont like to think about it so I pretend like it aint happening. I wanna think about what its gonna be like too see you again._

_ Think about it Jane. Its already December and I been gone since April. Thats almost my whole tour. Im trying to be happy. Trying to have some hope. Its gone by real slow for me but I hope its gone by real fast for you. I miss you but I hope your doing OK. I know your not. But if you could maybe tell me you are … maybe I could sleep a little better when I get a chance. Every time I think about you I feel so sad that I want to grab my heart and just double over. But then I remember. Its already December and Ill be back in April. And I WILL be back Jane. I promise you. I dont know what else I can do but promise you._

_ No yes. Yes I do know. I know I keep repeating myself but this is how Im gonna say something new. This is how Im gonna promise you something new. When I get home Im gonna marry you Jane. I dont care how I gotta do it. I might take you down to the courthouse and sign a piece of paper just so I can marry you as soon as I can. I might ask you to wait awhile so we can have a real wedding. I know how much you would like that – if we were the first ones to have a real wedding. I know we cant afford it like we talked about before but I think itd be nice. I can just see you wearing a white dress and looking beautiful like you always wanted. But you always look beautiful. Thats why your Jane._

_ Im rambling but its the only thing I think I can do. I got so much I could tell you Jane but I dont wanna scare you. And I know I would. When I get home I promise Ill tell you everything. If not everything then close to it. I just dont want you to worry about me any more then I already know you are. I know how hard its been for you with Steve being back and not being himself. It hurts me to picture him like that too. I dont want you to picture me like that. I want you to picture me like I was last Christmas. You remember when Lucy held Elenore high up above our heads and Elenore dangeled that missletoe over us. Picture me like that. Its how I picture you when I cant see you._

_ I dont think I could love you any more if I tried. I dont think I could miss you any more if I tried. You are the prettiest girl in the whole wide world and I hate when I wake up and you aint there. Its already December and Ill be back before you know it. I promise you. Merry Christmas Jane. You beautiful, beautiful girl. I love you, I love you, I love you. – Sodapop Curtis_

* * *

Every year, Lilly Cade tried to get her friends to participate in a Secret Santa gift exchange. Every year, they told her to buzz off. No one was quite sure why they'd finally given into Lilly's relentlessly cheery demands. Sadie suspected it had something to do with the interaction (or lack thereof) between Lilly and Two-Bit over the summer after he returned home. Though no one spoke of what was going on (or not going on) between the two of them, everyone knew. It was nearly as palpable as whatever was going on between Lucy and Dally.

On Christmas Eve, the ever-growing group got together at the Curtis house, which Darry joked would, soon, not be able to fit all of them. Jane threw him a look as if to say it was his fault they were losing their home base. After all, he was the one who had to go and fall in love with Lynnie Jones, who showed up in town out of the blue. When Darry caught her eye and, because he was Darry, knew exactly what she was trying to communicate, she softened. She needed to stop blaming other people for her own worries. All the while, Lucy and Dally stood on very different sides of the living room, not even attempting to make eye contact with one another. It was a wonder they'd both managed to show up to the same event. By Christmas, it was rare to see them in the same room at the same time.

People mingled. People opened their secret presents and revealed themselves as gift givers. When Sadie opened a lovingly used copy of _Blueberries for Sal_, Ponyboy didn't need to tell her that he had been her Secret Santa. She simply walked over to him and wrapped him in a hug. At first, he resisted, but when he remembered the way Sadie used to sit patiently with him as he sounded out the simplest words, he relented. After all, she was his only sister – his closest connection to Soda when Soda wasn't there – and he couldn't let her go. Not really.

"I love you," Sadie said (quietly, so no one else would hear).

Ponyboy didn't say it back, but that was fine by Sadie. He needed time. He needed to be angry with her before he could confront himself. If anyone knew that, it was Sadie.

Meanwhile, when Darry received a copy of _A Tale of Two Cities _with the inscription, "All brawn and all brains," there was no question it was from Steve. The gift shocked most of the group, as Steve had been withdrawn (to say the least) since returning from the war. Unlike Soda, Steve had never been a sentimental man, and no one expected him to give a gift to Darry that reminded him of the time Darry popped him in the mouth. No one, of course, except Lucy, who'd wrapped up the gift for Steve when he awkwardly came into Great Books for the purchase about two weeks earlier. Lucy was sure she'd never forget that sale. It was the most awkward she'd ever had. Both of them tried so hard not to talk about the war or about Soda or about Dally. They didn't know how to talk to each other, even though they'd been hanging in the same circle since they were fourteen. Maybe that was why Lilly always wanted to play this Secret Santa game. It forced intimacy and togetherness in a way that nothing else really could.

Then again, when Lynnie received no gift at all, it was clear her Secret Santa was supposed to have been Dally, so perhaps Lucy's thoughts were null and void.

When Lilly opened her gift, she was thrilled and befuddled with what she found. In a box was the most beautiful black sweater she had ever seen. It almost took her breath away. Greaser girls never wore sweaters like this – not because they didn't want to, necessarily, but because they couldn't afford them. Lilly, especially, loved the gift, as she'd been eyeing another woman's similar sweater and complaining that she wished she could afford to have a better sense of style.

"This is beautiful!" she said. "Katie?"

"What?" Katie asked.

"Are you my Secret Santa?"

"Nope."

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Totally sure. And you should be, too. Lucy just opened that pretty notebook, and we went over the fact that it was from me."

"But who else would have known I wanted a sweater like this? You were the only one there when I was complaining about not being able to afford different clothes."

"Yeah, I know. But you ain't thinkin' clear enough. This sweater costs a lotta dough. Who do we know who's known for swipin' shit?"

"Jane?"

Jane laughed a little, though it was hollow. She didn't mean to be disengaged. She just hated the fact that this year, there were no presents to or from Soda under the Curtis family Christmas tree.

"No," Jane said. "Dally opened his new leather already, and that was from me. Incidentally, it wasn't stolen. I bought it from a resale shop for pretty cheap."

"You bought this?" Dally asked, holding up the jacket.

"You sound surprised."

"Only 'cause I am. Didn't think Jane Randle ever bought clothes."

"Well, sometimes Jane Randle's full of surprises."

Dally smirked in Jane's direction, and Lucy, out of pure animalistic rage, felt her blood boil. It didn't make any sense. Despite the tension between them, Dally was married to Lucy, and Jane (per Soda's last letter) was practically engaged. There was no flirtation going on between Dally and Jane, even if he did used to think Jane was cute.

Right? Wasn't that true? Of course it was. But without being able to talk to Dally about anything anymore, Lucy's imagination loved to spiral out of control.

Off Lilly's still confused look, Katie turned back to her best friend, frustrated out of her mind.

"Oh, jeez," she said. "For the love of God, Lilly. Who do we know _besides Jane _who's got a knack for shopliftin' and might've known ya wanted that sweater?"

Lilly stopped. Her breath hitched, even though she knew all along that it had been Two-Bit who got her the sweater. She'd caught him looking down at the ground, embarrassed, when she opened the (poorly wrapped) box. Truthfully, she had been in denial about Two-Bit. She'd been in denial about him since the day he returned home from Vietnam and told her that he had been off his rocker before, and of course he didn't see a future where he could love Lilly Cade like she loved him. She told herself that it didn't matter. She was beautiful, strong, and capable without his validation. She told herself that she never really loved Two-Bit, anyway. The night they spent together back in 1965 hadn't meant anything. Two-Bit had come home not quite drunk, and Lilly had come to the Mathewses' with her loneliness. It could have happened to anybody. Lilly told herself she didn't love Two-Bit, and there was no way he could have ever even thought about loving her. And then she opened that sweater.

Nervously, she lifted her gaze from Katie's annoyed eyes to Two-Bit, who was still blushing as deep as a pomegranate when he locked eyes with Lilly. He tried to smile, but he couldn't. The look on Lilly's face warranted much more than that. Unfortunately, there was no expression that could quite sum up the way Two-Bit felt about Lilly, so all he could do was stare at her.

"I didn't know you were listening," Lilly said. It was perhaps the dumbest thing she could have said, but in the moment, it was all she had.

"Well, can ya blame me?" Two-Bit asked. "Your voice is so loud I wouldn't be surprised if they could hear ya in Timbuktu."

"One of the Cade siblings had to be a little outgoing," Lilly offered.

"I'm glad it was her," Johnny just barely piped up from the back of the room. There were a few laughs (mostly from Two-Bit, who couldn't help but feel nervous around Johnny's kid sister – _Johnny's kid sister_!).

"Yeah," Two-Bit said, and Lilly was surprised. He always had something to say, and yet, as they stood there with the sweater between them, he seemed stumped. Part of Lilly wondered if she should be impressed with herself – reducing a motor mouth like Two-Bit Mathews to something almost speechless. In the end, she knew how she really felt. She was disappointed. She wanted almost nothing more than to really _talk _to Two-Bit again, like they had on that night back in 1965. It was like he could hear her before, but he was deaf to her now. No matter which way she looked at it, Lilly was heartbroken (or close to it).

She inched closer to him, not sure she wanted everyone else to hear her business. It had been a life of community gossip, and for as much as Lilly Cade loved to gossip, she didn't love being the subject of everyone's hearsay. She remembered that, too, from that morning in 1965.

"Do you wanna step out and talk?" she asked, her voice low and soft. "Just … for a little while?"

Two-Bit almost smiled, but it was one of those sad, defeated smiles. That was enough to horrify Lilly. She'd seen that expression on Johnny since they were little children, but she'd never seen it on Two-Bit. Two-Bit was the master of the Will Rogers grin before he'd shipped out in July of '67. Lilly knew why he was different, but she just wished he would _talk _about it. He didn't even need to talk to her. But this bottled-up denial was awful for her to watch, knowing how much she loved him. Did he know how much she loved him?

"It's just a sweater, Lil," Two-Bit finally said.

Lilly shook her head.

"Me an' you both know it's more'n that."

It was Two-Bit's turn to shake his head.

"Just a fuckin' sweater," he muttered.

Then, he looked up at Lilly with sincerity and sweetness in his eyes. They weren't laughing wildly or dancing like they used to when he was younger (when they were all younger), but it was something. It was enough to make Lilly hopeful that Two-Bit would be OK in the end. It wasn't enough to make her suddenly know that they would fall in love (again) or get married or any of the things she used to dream about when she was just a little girl whose father had failed her. But it was enough to make her know that her best friend's big brother – her _own _friend – would make it out of whatever he suffered in silence and denial.

"Merry Christmas," he said, his voice uncharacteristically small. "I'm glad ya like it."

Those were the last words Two-Bit and Lilly spoke for the rest of the night. She did not follow him around the Curtis house like a lost puppy like she probably would have when she was in high school. This was enough. For now, this was enough.

* * *

Shortly thereafter, Ponyboy opened his present. He was excited to see a copy of _Invisible Man_, no doubt from the highest, most secretive shelf at Great Books, and he knew exactly who'd purchased it for him. Lucy did, too. It was another purchase she wouldn't forget. She needed to use the ladder to get to the book (the only copy they had) and almost passed out while she was up there. Lucy wasn't afraid of much, but she was afraid of heights. But if Carrie Shepard asked, then Lucy would oblige.

Ponyboy looked up from the book and cracked a small grin at Carrie, who looked at him from across the room, framing her face in her hands. She'd been planning the gift even before the rest of the gang caved in and allowed Lilly to have her Secret Santa, and she was glad to see he liked it.

"_Invisible Man_," Ponyboy said. "Been wantin' to read this a long time."

"I know," Carrie said. "Hard to get a copy in Tulsa, what with our fear of anything that ain't white."

Out of the corner of her eye, Carrie saw Lilly take a deep breath in, but she did not let it out.

"I heard a lot about it, but I still don't know what to expect," Ponyboy said. "Heard it's great."

"I hope you like it," Carrie said.

They stared at each other from far across the room, and everyone around them began to seize up in awkwardness. While everyone understood that there had always been _something _between the littlest Shepard and the littlest Curtis, no one really understood it at all. It had been years since their first kiss at the movies in July 1965, and every time it seemed like they finally caught each other, they let each other ago. It didn't make a lot of sense to anyone, but in truth, it made the least sense to Darry. He'd spent years and years trying to convince Ponyboy to pull his head out of the clouds every now and then – stop romanticizing everything that came his way. But the one time when it would have made sense for him to be romantic was the one time he decided to play it safe. This book, Darry thought, this book that proved just how attentively Carrie Shepard listened to and loved his little brother, should have been the linchpin.

"I will," Ponyboy said. He thumbed through the pages for a few moments and then looked up because he felt a pair of eyes on him. The truth was that there were several pairs of eyes on him, but the only ones that mattered to him were Carrie's eyes. They looked at each other, and he knew he couldn't sit there and let her dangle. He wasn't sure what he would say. He only knew he had to say something.

Ponyboy stood up, seemingly out of his own control. He walked right up to Carrie, just as Lilly had walked up to Two-Bit. She drew in her breath, not sure of what was coming but not willing to dismiss him. Moments like these, for eighteen-year-old Carrie Shepard, were few and far between.

"You wanna go somewhere and talk?" he asked her.

And unlike Two-Bit, when Lilly asked him the same question, Carrie nodded. She may have nodded too many times. What would Angela have said about keeping it cool? Why was Carrie thinking about Angela? Perhaps because it was Christmastime, and at Christmastime, Carrie couldn't help but think about her wayward sister, despite the fact that she didn't want to. It made her too angry – made her cling to that righteousness she'd been trying so hard to get rid of.

"Yes," she said.

"Cool."

Carrie followed Ponyboy onto the porch and tried not to pay attention to the scores of eyes that were watching them go. He pulled her into the corner farthest away from the window, which, if he'd been there, Soda would have stood behind so that he could listen intently and advise his brother later. But alas, Soda wasn't there, and no one was paying that much attention. No one paid attention to love quite like Sodapop Curtis. It seemed wrong to try to fill his shoes when he wasn't around.

"I almost asked Lucy if she wanted to switch," Carrie said, almost as though she felt compelled to apologize for a meaningful gift. "She got Dally, and even though we don't talk about it, I know there's something going on between the two of them. But I figured I already knew how to get ya somethin' ya liked …"

"I love it, Carrie," Ponyboy said.

Carrie blushed in spite of herself.

"Oh," she said. "Well, I'm glad. I haven't read it. I skimmed it, though. Some really interesting stuff toward the beginning at a battle royal. Kinda dirty, but all the best books are. That's what Lucy says, anyway."

"Yeah, well, she ain't wrong."

An uncomfortable silence hung between them. Their first semester at the University of Tulsa had recently wrapped up. To date, Carrie was the first Shepard to graduate from high school, much less attend a university. She'd shocked the hell out of Tim when she told him she'd earned a full scholarship to TU, and she'd saved up enough cash throughout high school to pay for her books and other expenses. She tried to pretend like it didn't bother her about Tim knowing next to nothing about her, but it did. She just never admitted it out loud.

After their first semester, to say that things were complicated between Ponyboy Curtis and Carrie Shepard would have been an understatement. Carrie thought they were at their most confused on Valentine's Day when they were seniors in high school when they made the (retrospectively hair-brained) decision to sleep together for the first time. That confusion had nothing on their first semester in college. That, of course, was a different story.

"Look, if you're still upset about what happened with Joey Valance in our Exposition and Argumentation class …" Ponyboy began, but Carrie shook her head and cut him off.

"Joey Valance means nothin' to me," Carrie said. "He looks real good, but he ain't got nothin' on …"

She stopped. After the semester they'd had, it was too soon to talk about Joey Valance. It was too soon to talk about themselves, as a unit … and not.

"Well, you know," Carrie said and tried to pretend like she didn't. It was no use. Ponyboy finally understood what she was saying, and he couldn't help but hear her … so, so loudly.

"I love the book, Carrie," Ponyboy said. "I especially love that ya got it for me."

"You mean that someone got it for you, or …"

"No. That _you _got it for me."

They were quiet again. In her younger days, even as recently as that summer, Carrie would have tried to fill the silence with idle prattle about philosophical novels or whether she'd buy a Coke or a Pepsi from the DX when they walked home from wherever they were that afternoon. But that wasn't who Carrie Shepard was anymore. She was less nervous – more self-assured. After a life filled with noise – with sirens and shouts and juvenile bailouts – Carrie Shepard had learned to find solace in the silence.

She reached for Ponyboy's hand, and he took it. He had no objections. It was Christmas Eve, and he wanted to be close to the people who mattered most. Darry and Sadie inside, and Soda was faraway. But all of a sudden, it didn't matter that Soda wasn't there. No, that wasn't right. Of course it mattered that Soda wasn't there, and there was a hole in Ponyboy's heart that, typically, his older brother fit right inside. But for the first time since Soda had been gone, Ponyboy understood what Sadie didn't. Simply because Soda was gone – simply because Ponyboy missed him – didn't mean he couldn't love anyone else in his absence.

He squeezed Carrie's hand to let her know that he was there. Carrie squeezed it back but not quite as tightly. Ponyboy Curtis had held her hand and promised he'd stay by her side plenty of times before, only to back out the next day. What she couldn't have known, of course, was that this time, he meant it. She wouldn't know it for months.

* * *

On the day after Christmas, Dally was stuck working a midday shift at the fucking grocery store. He pretended like he was glad to go to work and get away from Lucy, who'd spent all of Christmas Day in the dining room with her father, taking notes about something he didn't quite understand. He would have asked Lucy about it, but he figured she wouldn't tell him. Lucy didn't tell him anything anymore. Before the holiday, she'd stopped attending Randy Adderson's stupid meetings, and though Dally had asked her why, she didn't offer a real answer. She simply said they weren't interesting anymore. When he asked her why again, she didn't respond. What was that supposed to mean? Now that she was getting higher up in her college classes, did she realize he wasn't all that smart? Was she looking to upgrade? He didn't want to admit it, but the thought made him sick. He could picture a life without Lucy Bennet kicking his ass. He could picture it, and he hated it more than he'd ever hated anything, even his old man (and his old lady, though he didn't like to think about her very much).

Though Dally pretended like he was relieved to be away from Lucy, the truth was that he was sad to be away from Elenore. Darry (and Lynnie) had gotten her a doll for Christmas, and in the day since she'd had it, she'd taken to dancing with the doll to that new song with her name in it. Dally could never say so out loud, but he loved to watch her dance to that song. He loved to watch her play. There was something so … different about the way she was than the way he was when he was a child – Violet, too. Where Dally and Violet had been paranoid, suspicious children, Elenore seemed happier and brighter. She was creative and fun. She was like her mother.

As he stocked a shelf of bread, he noticed Sadie and Johnny walking toward him. He didn't want to talk to them, but he knew he would. It wasn't that he wasn't glad to see Johnny. He was. He was always glad to see Johnny – glad he'd found himself a woman as tough and cool as Sadie Curtis and glad he was going to be a father (and a damn good one, too). But since Johnny had received his 3-A, Dally found it increasingly difficult to look him in the eye. It didn't make sense. He wanted the best for Johnny, and he knew that the best for Johnny was Sadie and his baby. A sensitive guy like Johnny never would have done well in the war. Even though Soda was sensitive, there was a reckless, animalistic side to the guy that made Dally sure he was OK as he could be over there. Perhaps, he thought, that was why he'd always seen part of himself in Soda (and why he saw none of virtually himself in Johnny). Why couldn't Dally look at Johnny the same way knowing he'd escaped the draft and knowing why? The same thing had happened to him. He had nothing to covet.

Except, of course, he did.

"Hey, Dally," Johnny said. "Didn't know you were workin' today."

"Workin' everyday, just about," Dally said. "I got a kid, and she likes to eat. When I was a kid, I liked to eat, too. Too bad nobody was out there workin' for me, if ya know what I'm sayin'."

And sure enough, Sadie did.

She saw that Johnny was freezing up, and she knew the quickest way to unfreeze him was to dismiss herself from the situation. Dally wasn't bringing up his father for no reason. He needed to talk to Johnny, and for him to do that, she couldn't be around.

"I'm gonna go look for the milk," Sadie said.

"Want me to come with ya?" Johnny asked.

"Naw, I can do it."

She looked at Johnny, and he knew what she was trying to tell him. In the years (_years_) they had been together, he'd gotten very good at reading Sadie's eyes. In that way, he felt almost as close to her as he felt to himself.

Sadie went off to find the milk (and to give masculinity a place to breathe), and Johnny stood closer to Dally. He wasn't sure where to begin, so he just spoke.

"Ya think Elenore will remember this Christmas?" he asked.

Dally shook his head.

"I was talkin' to Lucy's mom about it yesterday," Dally said (though in actuality, Mrs. Bennet had forced herself into a conversation with Dally, probably in an attempt to figure out why he really wasn't there on Thanksgiving). "She says Lucy don't remember Christmas until she was almost three, so we got another year before we have to …"

Dally stopped. He realized the inherent ridiculousness of Dallas Winston planning for the future, especially a future that concerned a baby daughter and her Christmas memories. Before Lucy Bennet came around, Dally always suspected he might be dead the next day. Lately, he'd been thinking again about how perhaps he deserved to go back to that kind of thinking. Then he remembered Elenore. Even if everyone else left him, Elenore was worth living for.

"She don't remember it," Dally said. "But she sure does like that doll Darry and Lucy's cousin gave her."

"Yeah."

"What about you, man? When's Sadie gonna have that baby of yours?"

"Doctor says she's due early in April."

"April. Ain't that when Soda's supposed to be gettin' home?"

"Yeah. Lot for Sadie at one time."

"Yeah. You ever think about what would've happened? You know, if you'd gone?"

Johnny was quiet for a while. If he were being honest with Dally, he would have told him that he thought about it all the time. He thought about what might have happened if Sadie hadn't gotten pregnant more than he thought about having the baby in a short matter of months, which he worried made him a terrible father already. If Johnny were being honest with Dally, he would have told him that sometimes, in the middle of the night, he woke up after nightmares and flashbacks to a war he would never be part of. It made him feel … well, there was no word for it other than _incorrect_. He felt incorrect as a man for not fighting. He felt incorrect as a father for not thinking about his baby all the time. If he were being honest with Dally, he would have told him all of it.

But it didn't matter. Despite his marriage and his love for his daughter, Dally was still Dallas Winston. And Dallas Winston didn't do sincerity. He punched it in the face and sent it down into an early grave.

"I think about it sometimes," Johnny said. "Think about how Sadie would be … well, she'd be pretty bad off if her husband and her twin brother were gone."

"Lucy thinks about that, too," Dally said. Of course, she'd never actually told him that. At this point, he knew her well enough to assume. Even in the darkest time, Lucy still thought about Sadie.

"Yeah. What about you? You ever think about what would've happened if you went?"

Dally paused. If he were being honest with Johnny, he would have told him that in the past few months, that was almost all he ever thought about. He would have told him that when he thought about that incident between Steve and Evie a few months earlier, he always wanted to hold onto Elenore a little tighter. She was more than just his ticket out of the war. She saved his life. Before Elenore, there were still moments when Dally didn't care if he lived or died. He cared more after he married Lucy, but once he had Lucy _and _Elenore, he knew staying alive mattered. If he were being honest with Johnny, he would have told him that this tension (a euphemism if he'd ever heard one) between himself and Lucy was enough to make him wonder if he deserved that life he was once so proud to have. Maybe he should have gone to war. Maybe he never should have let Lucy Bennet own him the way she did. Maybe …

He couldn't say anything like that to Johnny. He couldn't even say it to himself.

"Sometimes," Dally said. "Before Elenore and Lucy, I think I would've … I don't know, I was the kind of guy who was supposed to die over there before I had them. But now that I got 'em, it's like I …"

He would have said something like, "It's like I got a chance to start over." But he never would have said that. Dallas Winston didn't do sentimental.

"I don't know," Dally said.

"Yeah," Johnny said and scuffed his shoes along the filthy grocery store floor. "Guess we got lucky."

And before he knew it, Dally had something to say. Something he'd never thought about before – at least, not in certain terms.

"No," he said. "_I _got lucky."

"What do you mean?" Johnny asked. "Both of us got outta the war for the same reason, didn't we? We both had babies."

"Yeah, maybe. I don't know, man. You an' Sadie planned to have your baby for a long time before ya finally did. Me and Lucy … we never planned on havin' Elenore. Just happened."

"Yeah, but what's the difference? You had the baby. Ya still … well, ya still care about her. What does it matter if you planned to have her if ya have her now, and ya …"

Johnny stopped just before he could use the word _love_. It wasn't a word Dally was ready to hear. Maybe it never would be.

"I don't think there's a difference," Johnny said. "Do you?"

Dally shrugged.

"I don't know, man," he said. "I don't fuckin' know. Used to think I knew, but now …"

If Dally could have been honest with Johnny, he would have told him that now that he and Lucy were going through _whatever they were going through_, he wondered if she would have left him years ago. He wondered what might have happened if he'd actually left town on the day Elenore was born, like he would have done if Soda hadn't stopped him outside the hospital. Would Lucy have stuck around for him, or would she have figured out the truth? That he wasn't as smart as she was? That he wasn't worth loving? Even his own mother killed herself to avoid loving him. Was Lucy figuring it out now?

He didn't have it in him to ask the questions. They hurt too much, and Dallas Winston didn't like to be in pain. He'd played the role of a masochist, but in the end, that was all it was – a role.

"I don't know," Dally said. "I just wonder sometimes what it would've been like, you know? If me and Lucy had planned to have Elenore like you and Sadie planned to have … well, whatever this kid's name's gonna be. You picked one?"

"We ain't sure if it's gonna be a boy or a girl," Johnny said. "But we been thinkin' about Michael."

Dally almost smiled.

"It's 'cause that's …"

"Pony's middle name. Yeah, I know."

Johnny had to be honest. It surprised him that Dallas Winston would have memorized a thing like that.

"Just don't tell him," Johnny said. "If it's a boy, we wanna surprise him."

"Yeah, whatever. I won't tell him. Whatever you want, man."

They were silent for a moment, but Johnny (to Dally's surprise), broke the silence.

"Maybe you and Lucy will find out what's like to have a kid ya plan for a long time before ya have it," he said.

"I don't know, man," Dally said. "Way things have been goin'…"

"How have they been goin'?"

And for a moment, Dally almost told Johnny the truth. He almost told him that Lucy was pulling away from him, and he was terrified that he would lose her. He was terrified that he would be left alone with Elenore without a clue about how to raise a baby by himself. He was terrified that Lucy would take Elenore with her when she left. For a moment, Dally considered telling Johnny everything. But then, Sadie showed up with the milk.

"Found the milk!" she said. Her voice was infuriatingly chipper, as though she had no idea what kind of conversation she'd found herself in the middle of (but she clearly did). "How's it goin', men?"

Johnny grabbed Sadie's hand but kept his gaze on Dally, who looked like he may vomit.

"We're doin' OK," Johnny said. "Ain't we, Dally?"

Dally nodded. It was all he could do. Besides, he didn't want to upset his wife's best friend.

"Yeah," he said. "We're doin' OK."

In that moment, he wasn't sure just how true that would be.

* * *

_December 27, 1968_

_Dear Elenore,_

_ Merry Christmas! Well its later then Christmas now but I still wanted to say it. Miss you. Wish I could of been there to see you open all your presents. Darry told me he and his girl got you a doll. Do you like it? I bet it makes your mama crazy. Shes always worried about women being more then just mothers and wives. You tell her that's OK to think about. You tell her shes always gonna be more. Shes Lucy Bennet after all._

_ Im gonna see you soon and Im worried you wont remember me when I get back. Tell your folks to show you some pictures. Im the one who's the most handsome. Dont let your daddy tell you any diffrent._

* * *

On New Year's Eve, Lucy's cousin Lynnie insisted on having another party. To keep up appearances, Lucy and Dally went as a couple. It wasn't as if they were really broken up, and it wasn't as if their struggles were a secret to the rest of the gang. They were, however, in denial to themselves. They didn't want to admit that their communication was breaking down. They didn't want to admit that if they kept bottling things up, they'd lose each other for sure.

During the party, Dally stepped outside with Steve and Two-Bit, who were getting drunk off their asses (per usual, especially for Two-Bit). Dally hadn't been drinking very much since Elenore was born, as she kept him too busy. But on that night, when Two-Bit asked him if he wanted a beer, he took one. And then he took another. And then he took another. Before long, he started to feel less like Dallas Winston, husband and father, and more like Dallas Winston, juvenile delinquent headed for an early grave.

"Alright, Dally, ya gotta tell us," Steve said. "What the hell's goin' down between you and your wife?"

"Ah, sure thing, man," Dally said. "I'll tell you about me and Lucy as soon as you tell us what really happened between you and your girl."

"Nothin' happened."

"She won't hardly look you in the eye."

"It's 'cause he's so ugly," Two-Bit said and cracked himself up. He drank to forget about Lilly Cade and her unwavering, undying love for him, which he felt he did not deserve. He drank to forget about how Lilly was inside, laughing up a (sober) storm with his kid sister.

If Steve had been honest with Dally and Two-Bit, he would have told him that one night, months earlier, he woke up in the middle of the night with his hands around Evie's throat after a dream that she was the enemy. Of course, Steve didn't understand _who _the enemy was anymore. He only knew that he was the enemy to himself. But could he get that deep with a hood and a drunk? He didn't think so. He could have said something like that to Soda, but Soda wasn't there. Soda was living through hell.

"Nothin' happened," he repeated. He needed to repeat it until he believed it. He suspected Dally probably felt the same way about Lucy.

"Yeah," Dally said. "I'll believe you when you believe me."

"How come Lilly loves me so much?" Two-Bit asked.

At least, he thought he asked it. When no one answered him, he didn't know what to think. Before long, he opened his eyes, and he was all alone on the front porch. All alone on the front porch. If he didn't get it together (didn't tell Lilly he loved her, even though he didn't deserve someone as kind, optimistic, and wonderful as she was), then that would be his whole life. He stumbled over to the storm door and saw everyone gathered together inside, having what at least appeared to be a decent time. On a different night in a different year, perhaps Two-Bit would have barged in and joined the party. If he'd been younger, he might have made a scene and yelled something like, "Happy '69! Let's get started on that 69!" He might have grabbed Lucy around the waist and spun her around, looking for Dally to threaten him with something, anything, before he let go of his buddy's beloved wife and went for another drink. In another time, perhaps that New Year's Eve would have been a grand old time for Two-Bit Mathews.

But as soon as he caught a glimpse of Lilly Cade on the Curtis family couch, laughing up a storm, sitting in between Johnny and Katie, he knew he couldn't afford to go in there. He knew he couldn't risk messing with her happiness, and if he were to get too close to her, he was sure to make her miserable. He made _himself _miserable. He couldn't do that to Lilly. Even if he didn't know how to be with her, he knew he loved her. In fact, he thought, he knew he always had.

And that was why there was nothing for him to do but go. He wondered if anyone noticed he was gone or if they were all too busy laughing and playing around to recognize that they were missing one miserable alcoholic who kept his trauma, quite literally, in a bottle. Since he wasn't there, he would never know. He would never know that as he turned around and slumped away, Lilly watched him go.

* * *

In the very last minutes of 1968, Lynnie Jones stood at the front of the living room and made an announcement. Darry stood by her and smiled. He loved how natural she looked in that house. He couldn't wait until Soda returned home, and he could officially make Lynnie the woman of it.

"I know what you're probably all thinking," Lynnie said. "'Who is this woman, and why does she insist on throwing all these parties and making all these announcements?'"

Jane Randle snorted from across the room. Lynnie had no idea how true that was for her.

"But I just wanted to say thank you," Lynnie said. "I know this year has been hard for all of you – some of you more than others.

She made special eye contact with Lucy, Dally, Jane, and Sadie. Only one of them did not return her gaze. She was not surprised by which one.

"This has been a difficult year, but you've all made me feel so welcome in this place. It almost feels like I can call it home without a second guess. And I love that. So, I wanted to ask you. As we leave 1968, do you have any wishes for 1969?"

This would have been the moment when Two-Bit yelled something crass about the number sixty-nine. But since Two-Bit wasn't there (and everyone felt his absence), the moment fell a little flatter than it could have.

"I do," Sadie piped up. "I wish that me and Johnny's baby is born happy and healthy."

"I wish that Soda comes back safe," Johnny said.

Sadie looked up at him and squeezed his hand. Even if he thought he knew, there was no way he knew just how much it meant to hear him say that.

"I wish that we all stay friends," Lilly said. "I think we all really need each other."

Lynnie smiled. Her eyes flickered over to Lucy, who looked like she may cry. As her friends and family shared their wishes for the upcoming year, all Lucy could think was that she wished she could find her footing again. But she couldn't say that out loud. That would ignite a drama of untold proportions, and a new year was not a place for drama of untold proportions. When she felt Lynnie's prying smile on her cheeks, she sighed and offered a cookie-cutter sentiment.

"Oh," she said. "I, uh, I wish that Elenore has a healthy year full of love and life and laughter."

Lynnie grinned. And in the end, so did Lucy. It brought her great relief to know that when she made those wishes for Elenore, she really meant them. When she thought about Elenore's smile, she was filled with _joy_. It still felt new, but she welcomed it.

"Thanks, Lucy," Lynnie said. "I wish the same for Jimmy."

"Me too," Darry added. "And I wish that you and I …"

But Darry didn't have a chance to finish that thought – not yet, anyway. Before he could finish speaking, Dallas Winston stumbled into the living room from the back of the house. He never said so, but he'd been hanging out in Soda's (former) bedroom, looking at his things and wondering why the United States had failed him so miserably. He didn't need to say it because Lucy already knew. Dally had always felt a strange closeness to Soda, after all.

"Ya know what I wish for 1969?" he said. He slurred his words like a stereotype. "Ya know what I wish?"

"Dally," Darry said. "Please. Sit down."

"No, man, _you _fuckin' sit down. Ya know what I wish? Lucy?"

Lucy locked eyes with her husband and raised one eyebrow. If Dally had been sober, it would have turned him on.

"I wish you'd sit the fuck down," Lucy said. "I wish you wouldn't get drunk at my cousin's party."

"Well, too fuckin' late!" Dally said, opening his wingspan and nearly knocking Lynnie over. Darry helped her to catch her balance.

"Ya know what I wish, Bennet?"

"No."

"This year, I wish that you decided to give a shit about me! Huh? Wouldn't it be fuckin' nice if you gave a shit about me again? I think it'd be real fuckin' nice."

He laughed wildly, and the rest of the room went silent with shock and horror. They had all known that Lucy and Dally were going through problems. They just didn't know Dally would be this willing to air it out in front of all of them. As he laughed, seemingly unaware of the deafening silence around him, Bing Crosby's rendition of "Auld Lang Syne" filled the room. And that was all it was. Dallas Winston's maniacal laughter and auld acquaintance, now forgot.

He didn't even notice when Lucy made her way into the kitchen, tears streaming down her face, trying to forget, too.

* * *

**And that's the end of that! That last scene plays out much better in my head, but you should listen to Bing Crosby's version of "Auld Lang Syne" while you picture Dally, drunkenly laughing about his crumbling marriage, as everyone else looks on in horror. In my opinion, it's the creepiest version of the song, and it fits really well with the rest of the scene.**

**And, yes, I DID create an OMC in there with Joey Valance. I figured if all the canon gang characters now had sisters, maybe Cherry needed a brother. If I ever get around to writing that multi-chap fic about Ponyboy and Carrie's first year of college, he'll make a lot more sense. I've actually had that character planned for months, but now I get to use him!**

**Hinton owns **_**The Outsiders**_**. "Auld Lang Syne," as lyrics and general melody, is in the public domain. I claim no ownership of any modern renditions. I do still claim ownership of my fuzzy Cookie Monster shorts. I will never give them up.**


	12. Chapter 12

When Lucy Bennet began her second semester as a college junior, her father scheduled a meeting for her with Dr. Alice Farwell, an assistant professor of English literature at the university. Dr. Farwell specialized in eighteenth-century British literature, which Lucy was becoming increasingly interested in herself. Dr. Farwell was young (in her mid-thirties) and had received her Ph.D. from New York University some years earlier. Dr. Bennet had arranged the meeting after the conversation he and Lucy had on Christmas Day. Now that Lucy was nearing the end of her undergraduate studies, she wanted more out of her pursuit of English literature. She, like her father before her, wanted a Ph.D. But as a man, Jack Bennet didn't quite know how to advise his daughter. Dr. Farwell, he figured, just might.

Lucy anxiously knocked on Dr. Farwell's door, despite the fact that it was wide open for her office hours. She looked up and smiled.

"Lucy!" she said. "I'm so glad to see you."

"Me too," Lucy said as she stepped into Dr. Farwell's office. "Thanks for agreeing to talk to me about school and all that."

"It's my pleasure. You're one of the brightest students we have in the major. I was glad when your father told me you're thinking about pursuing a Ph.D."

"Oh, I'm more than thinking about it. I'm determined to make it happen."

"That's the kind of attitude you need. Are you thinking about NYU?"

Lucy nodded. She knew it was a good place for a woman to get a Ph.D., as they'd been graduating women for centuries. It was also far away from Tulsa, which seemed to be the goal the older she became. It wasn't that she wasn't grateful to Tulsa. She was. Without Tulsa, she had no Sadie … no Dally, and especially no Elenore. But it was time to move on. It was time to see what the other side of the country had to offer her. Lucy never saw herself as "from the East Coast," despite the fact that she'd been born there. She couldn't remember it. In truth, she wasn't from anywhere. And because she wasn't from anywhere, it seemed like New York City was the best place to go.

"It's a great place to study and live," Dr. Farwell said. "I never felt like I quite fit in anywhere until I moved to New York. It's like a place where people who never fit in finally fit."

"Paradoxical," Lucy said.

"Yes, very. You'd make a fair poet."

"No, I don't think so. I'd spend far too much time writing about my daughter and little, if anything, else."

"Writing a poem about your child can be a good thing. Haven't you read 'From the Author to Her Book?' Ann Bradstreet?"

Lucy nodded. She'd nearly gotten into a fight over that exact Bradstreet poem when she was in high school. Strangely enough, the fight was between her and Randy Adderson, a future poet of America (or so he wished). It was in their advanced English class, and while Randy claimed the poem was an allegory for a child and nothing more, Lucy tried to come up with a number of alternatives. Life as a book was her number-one interpretation. Randy tried to argue that there was always a correct answer in literary interpretation. Lucy wasn't even sure she agreed with the alternative interpretations quite as much as she agreed with the idea that the speaker's book was meant to be a child, but she couldn't stand the thought of someone thinking that literature was about being right. She couldn't stand the thought of someone being immovable – stuck in their old ways. It was why she wanted to pursue graduate education in English. It was why she wanted to move the hell out of Oklahoma.

"That reminds me," Dr. Farwell said. "When your father told me that you wanted to pursue your Ph.D., I was thrilled, but I couldn't help but think."

Lucy's heart sank.

"Yes?" she asked.

"I hope you don't take offense to what I'm about to say, dear," Dr. Farwell said in a voice that was typically reserved for children and small animals. "But it's a real concern. I understand you're married, and you have a child."

"A daughter," Lucy said hotly. "And I'd like to be a good example for her. I think pursuing higher education is the way I'm meant to do that."

"That's not what I mean, Lucy," Dr. Farwell said. "Of course a woman with a husband and a daughter can pursue a graduate degree. It's what I did. My question is a little different than that."

"Oh. Then, what is it?"

"You have a husband and a child. You want to move to New York for your career. Do they want to move with you?"

Lucy paused. She didn't know the answer to that question. Elenore, of course, was too little to know. But Dally. He and Lucy hadn't spoken beyond simple pleasantries and questions since New Year's Eve when he said his wish for 1969 was that his wife gave a shit about him again. Perhaps he wasn't getting his wish after all.

She sank into her chair a little. There was nothing more embarrassing, she thought, than a feminist being troubled by the fact that she was going through marital troubles.

"It's something to think about," Dr. Farwell said.

Inwardly, Lucy snorted. Yeah. She had no idea.

* * *

_January 10, 1969_

_Dear Jane,_

_ Happy New Year! Im sorry I didnt respond to your last letter right away. I been busy. Well busy aint really the half of it. Now that its January I get to see you in 3 months! I never been more excited to see anybody in my life. Guess what! My friend Mikey went home a few days ago. Hes gonna apply to college back home. Says he wishes he never took that year off to think about things. Im just glad he made it out alive. I was writing home about him so much I was pretty sure I was jinxing him or something._

_ Truth is Im afraid Im gonna jinx myself. Im afraid about writing to you guys about whats really going on here. How bad it can get sometimes. Im afraid your gonna go crazy or something. Thinking about me over here without a way to get me out. I know you Jane and I know it would just brake you in half if you knew how scared I get sometimes. But dont forget that I know you. And I know that I trust you and I dont want to keep stuff from you if were gonna get married. And were gonna get married. As soon as I get back were going right down to the courthouse with Sadie and my brothers and Steve and everybody. And thats why I cant keep secrets from you. You gotta know what its like over here. But you gotta promise me something. After you read this you aint gonna tell Sadie what you know._

* * *

On an unseasonably warm January night, Lilly Cade and Katie Mathews went down to the Dingo for a movie and some popcorn. They had a few extra bucks in their pockets, and they were looking to spend them. The movie (_Chitty Chitty Bang Bang_, which had been out for weeks already) didn't matter. What mattered was that Lilly and Katie had some time to spend together. Since they'd graduated from high school and worked alternating shifts at Jay's, they'd seen less and less of each other. That was hard on both of them. It was hard on Lilly because she felt Two-Bit's distance and absence perhaps more strongly than Katie did, and she was his own sister. It was hard on Katie because she felt like her brother was a stranger, and she was wrestling with something inside of her that she couldn't share with anyone, not even Lilly. That, of course, was a different story.

"You sure we shouldn't have invited anyone else?" Lilly asked. "I feel like we're leavin' people out."

"I don't know," Katie said. "What're you thinkin' about?"

"Well, I'm thinkin' about Lucy, and how she needs a distraction or two. And I'm thinkin' about Sadie and how we're gonna see less and less of her after she has this baby in, what, three months?"

"She said she's due in early April. That's less than three months."

"Well, then, shit."

"You're tellin' me. Everybody's havin' babies. We're gonna be the only ones left before we know it."

"Guess so. Oh, but Jane's been so sad lately. Maybe we should have invited her, too."

Katie shook her head. It was perhaps too instinctive.

"Naw," she said.

"What?" Lilly asked. "How come? Jane's our friend, ain't she? She's always been our friend."

Katie wasn't sure what to say. Lilly wasn't privy to a lot of things that had happened over the holiday vacation, nor did Katie necessarily want her to be. She'd already said too much, and she knew Lilly. If she said much more, Lilly wouldn't be able to let it go. All Katie could do was shrug and attempt to change the subject.

"I just think it'd be better if it was just you and me," Katie said. "The others might be our friends, but we're _best _friends."

That was enough to chase Lilly off the scent. She beamed and wrapped her arm around Katie Mathews, just like she did when she was a little girl – when they were both little girls who knew just slightly more than nothing.

"That's true," Lilly said.

They chatted effortlessly about things that were going on in their lives. It was almost like the distance Katie felt had grown between her and Lilly had healed without even needing to try. Katie told Lilly about the woman she recently waited on at Jay's. She was blonde, wearing sunglasses indoors, and much too thin, and she paid in cash, so it wasn't like Katie had any way of knowing for sure. But the way she spoke and the way she looked so carefully at her was enough to make Katie question whether or not that was Angela Shepard. Lilly's jaw nearly hit the ground. She hadn't thought about Angela Shepard since about 1965.

"You're _kidding_!" she squeaked, and someone behind her hissed at her to be quiet. She turned around into the dark and sneered.

"Oh, please. Like you're watching this shit show."

"_You're _a shit show!" another voice called out.

"Naw, I'm Lilly. _Shit show _is my mother."

She turned back around to a blushing Katie and shrugged. Sometimes it was easy for Katie and the others to forget that Lilly Cade was Johnny Cade's kid sister. They had no idea how easy it was for Lilly to forget that, too.

"I ain't kiddin'," Katie said. "I don't think so, anyway. She never took off her sunglasses, but I'd recognize her lips anywhere."

"Paid a lot of attention to Angela Shepard's lips, did ya?"

"I'm only sayin' she kissed a lot of boys, and we watched a lot of boys go past when we were younger 'cause of you."

"Yes, we did. Ever think my sights would land on your big brother the way they did?"

"Naw. Can't say I did."

"Me neither, really. You ever hate me for that?"

"Hate you for what?"

"For falling in love with Two-Bit. Steve sorta hated Soda for awhile after he started goin' with Jane. I always wondered if you felt that way about me."

Katie wasn't sure what to say. In truth, she hadn't given a lot of thought to a relationship between Lilly and Two-Bit because they'd never been in one. She remembered back in 1965 when she found them together in Two-Bit's bedroom, and she'd been livid and humiliated then. It wasn't because Lilly was with Two-Bit, per se. They actually might make a decent couple one day if Two-Bit ever got his shit together when Katie was forced to think about it. No, Katie was angry that morning because Lilly wasn't even sixteen, and Two-Bit had just turned eighteen that June. He should have known better than to take out his addictions and insecurities on Lilly. At least, at the time, that was what Katie had assumed out of her brother. Now, she wasn't so sure that was what had really happened. In those years, she'd never heard Lilly's side of the story. She'd always been too embarrassed to ask – too embarrassed for treating her so badly after the fact.

"I could never hate you, Lil," Katie said. "You're my best friend. Honestly, how could you already need a reminder?"

"I'm insecure!" Lilly said.

Katie wrapped her arm around her even tighter this time.

"Well, you don't gotta be," she said. "Not when you're around the people who love ya."

As if on cue, Two-Bit stumbled up to the girls in their seats. He'd come out of nowhere, as he often did. Where Katie was annoyed to see him, Lilly was equal parts thrilled and embarrassed. She didn't want him to know she was pining for him. She didn't want Katie to know that, either, despite the fact that Katie clearly knew. Though Lilly would never admit to it, she'd always been a little jealous of Katie Mathews. Unlike Lilly, Katie was never distracted by boys or romance or love. She always kept a level head. She was always realistic, even when she was being smart or funny. Katie was always so much tougher than Lilly, too. When they were little girls, Katie got into a fight with a boy on the playground because he (like almost everyone else) tried to make fun of Lilly's eyes. In the years they'd been together, Katie had gone to the mat for Lilly more times than either of them could count. Lilly wished she would have a shot at going to the mat for Katie one day.

"Hey, ladies!" Two-Bit said. He was drunk, which he'd been doing more and more frequently as the winter wore on. Katie thought it was because the winter kept him inside more often, and there was little else he could do. She wanted to save him because he was her brother. She knew she couldn't, even if she was his sister.

"Two-Bit, go home," Katie said. "You're drunk, and if you're drunk around the wrong people, you're gonna wind up in cuffs again."

"I don't care!" he said between theatrical laughs. It was embarrassing for Katie (and it would be embarrassing for Two-Bit during the hangover). "Cuff me! Better than walkin' around out here. I ain't free, Kate! I ain't free!"

"You're plenty free," Katie said and tried not to look her brother in the eye. It was difficult. All she wanted to do was look at him and make him understand that she missed him. She wasn't sure where he had gone, but he wasn't with her. He hadn't been with her in months – maybe even years.

"I ain't."

He stumbled more until he wound up plopping himself down on the chair next to Lilly. Instinctively, Lilly turned bright red. She was always nervous when she was sitting next to Two-Bit, even when he reeked of booze and popcorn. The smell almost didn't even bother her. It was familiar now. It would be a long time before Lilly realized that finding comfort in the smell of booze wasn't a good thing.

"Lilly!" he shouted, and the same people hissed at him to shut up. He ignored them. When Two-Bit was drunk, it was like he was the only person in the world. Lilly knew that, but she didn't know what that meant for her. At least, she didn't know it yet.

"What is it, Two-Bit?" she asked. "Whaddya need?"

"I need _you_, Lilly Pad," he said.

Her heart nearly stopped beating. They were the words she'd desperately wished to hear him say, though she was beginning to think he never would. Lilly was so desperate for love (particularly love from Two-Bit) that she didn't realize how little it meant if he wasn't going to remember it in the morning.

"What did you say?" she asked. She was breathless, which she would only later regret.

"I said I need you, Lilly Pad. Nobody will fuckin' talk to me anymore. I don't know why. Feels like … feels like they're all holdin' their breath for somethin', ya know? Steve came back, but it wasn't fuckin' good enough. I came back, and no one gave a shit 'cept for the damn baby. It's like nobody knows I'm here. Do you know I'm here, Lilly?"

Lilly didn't say anything. She didn't know what to say. Part of her wanted to assure Two-Bit that of course she knew he was there, and she'd been excited for him to return home since she heard the news that summer. She wanted to tell him that she was still waiting for him to come home. If there was anything she could do to help him come back for real, she would do it. She loved him. She'd always loved him. She loved him when she was a tiny awkward teenage girl who knew he'd rather be with a blonde. She loved him on that night back in 1965 when he (she assumed) was just looking for _someone _after Kathy dumped him. She loved him when he thought he might have loved her, and she loved him when he was in Vietnam, even though she never heard from him – barely even once. On that night, when he sat next to her, drunk off his ass and wondering if he could ever be free, Lilly loved Two-Bit. It was a curse. It was a burden. And Lilly wouldn't have traded it for anything. At least, she wouldn't have traded it for anything when she was nearly nineteen and didn't know much else.

"Lilly?" Two-Bit asked again.

Before she could answer, Lilly locked eyes with Katie. Though they didn't speak a word to one another, Lilly knew that Katie's expression was screaming at her. She was saying something like, "Don't give him what he wants." Lilly didn't want to listen, but at the same time, she wasn't sure she had another choice. Katie was her best friend and Two-Bit's sister. Nobody knew him better than she did. If Katie knew that now was the time to make sure Two-Bit didn't get exactly what he wanted, then it was Lilly's job to listen.

"I can't talk right now," Lilly said.

"Whaddya mean?" Two-Bit asked (though it was a lot more like slurring). "Ya talk all the fuckin' time. Ya talk during the movies. Ya talk in your sleep. Ya talk on New Year's Eve and don't even let me into your fuckin' conversations."

Lilly's heart dropped as she thought back to the moment she saw Two-Bit looking at her through the storm door just a few days earlier. He'd looked so broken then – so desperate to insert himself back into the conversation but no longer knowing the words. A year away had been too much, even if he'd written letters. Lilly thought about the defeated look in his eyes as he turned away. She thought about how she almost stood up and chased after him. Of course, she'd decided not to, out of fear that he would reject her again. There was no way Lilly could have known that what Two-Bit wanted, more than anything, was for her to come after him. Even the biggest, boldest men in the world wanted to be wanted, it seemed. But Lilly was entirely in the dark.

"Oh, Two-Bit," she exhaled.

"Either ya wanna talk or ya don't. It can't be both."

"It can _always _be both. Life is a bunch boths all stacked up on top of each other."

Two-Bit snorted. He wondered who taught Lilly how to speak like that. He had no way of knowing she had come up with that saying all on her own. Lilly, it turned out, was smarter than most people liked to give her credit.

"Well, then, let's think about this," Two-Bit said. "I love you, Lilly. I love you, and I wanna be with you. I don't care anymore. I ain't got a good reason not to be with you. I love you. I love you. I fuckin' love you."

Lilly's eyes grew twice the size of her head. She heard Katie choke on her popcorn in shock, and even though she was right next to Lilly, she sounded so distant. Maybe it was the fact that Katie was sitting right beside her. Maybe it was the fact that Two-Bit was drunk out of his mind (a normal state for him lately, it appeared). Maybe it was the fact that Two-Bit had turned Lilly down and made her feel like a fool in love one too many times. But instead of taking advantage of the words he spoke that night, Lilly shook her head and refused to let him say any more.

"You need to leave," Lilly said. "You need to leave now."

"Aww, c'mon, Lilly Pad! I just told ya I loved you. Ain't that what you been dyin' to hear since … forever?"

Lilly's heart clenched. It was true. And yet, when he said it, she felt empty. It was awful, and if Lilly could go back and do it again … well, she knew she would do it exactly the same way. That was the thing about time, she realized. It only ever did you favors, whether or not you recognized them in the moment.

"I don't care," Lilly said, trying so hard to make sure her voice didn't crack. "You need to leave. I came here with your sister. This ain't right."

"He's drunk off his ass," Katie interrupted. "It ain't right if ya let him twist in the wind, either."

And though Lilly agreed to leave the Dingo with Katie as the two girls – the two _women _– walked Two-Bit safely home, she couldn't help but feel like she was the one twisting in the wind. The war had been Two-Bit's trauma, and even though he couldn't seem to make himself share a single word about what he'd been through or what he felt about it, it was still there. It never stopped being present – never stopped casting a shadow on the man he felt he used to be. The war was Two-Bit's trauma. Lilly couldn't possibly know what that had been like, even if one day, he decided to describe it to her. She could lay no claim to his experience, and she knew that.

But the home front had been Lilly's trauma. She'd lost the man she thought she could love, and she'd watched her friends lose their brothers … their true loves. Even once they made it back, they were not the men they left behind. Lilly had watched her brother leave home, and though she hadn't lost him to the war, she'd lost him nonetheless. Johnny was the one person in the world who understood what it meant to grow up Cade. He was the one person she could turn to when the house felt like it was crumbling down (every night). Now, he was out of the house … creating a house of his own, one that his baby could feel safe in. Lilly, meanwhile, was stuck in a house where the only pieces of language were shrieks and shouts. It felt like there was no way out. No way out except for love and marriage. Johnny had found it. Why couldn't Lilly?

As she watched Katie stand behind her older brother, hunkered down and vomiting over the bushes in front of their home, Lilly felt consumed with love for Two-Bit (and for Katie, but that was always true). She knew, somewhere inside of herself, that their story didn't end with a drunken night and a rejection. But that thought was buried deep within the recesses of her conscious. In the moment, all Lilly could really focus on was trying not to cry.

The wind blew her hair in front of her face, and she didn't bother to move it out of her eyes.

* * *

On a cold afternoon in the middle of January, Sadie found herself all alone in her home. She had the day off while Johnny was at work. He'd spent the warmer months rebuilding a wealthy family's garden, and as it turned out, the family was fond of him. They'd hired him to take care of the inside of the house, too, now that it was colder. Johnny didn't say it out loud, but Sadie could tell that he was proud and happy. He was proud and happy that a family was kind to him and liked him for who he was. Sadie had spent some time with Johnny and the couple he worked for, and they had nothing but glowing things to say about her husband. They loved that he was polite, and they loved that even when things were difficult on the job, Johnny never gave up. He was clever, they said. The son, a fifteen-year-old kid who attended a Catholic school just outside of town, had even bought Johnny a book of poems by Emily Dickinson. He'd heard him talking to his folks about how he and his wife both really liked Dickinson but had lost their copy of her poetry when they moved into the tiny house. The boy wanted to help them out. Johnny, he said, was becoming part of their family. Sadie had never been happier for her husband – not only because he was making decent money at a steady job, but also, because he finally found another place where he could fit in.

The only problem with Johnny's job was that he worked much longer hours than Sadie did. Now that Sadie was quickly entering the third trimester of her pregnancy, she wasn't able to work as frequently as she had before. She was tired, and her blood pressure would spike if she encountered even the slightest bit of stress. It was better, she decided, to take some time off and make sure she was keeping the baby safe. On the one hand, she knew that was the right call. On the other, she was going stir crazy inside of that house, especially when she knew that Johnny would often be at work until six in the evening.

But one cold afternoon, Sadie was tired of lying in bed and reading poetry. It was how she spent all of her days, and she was ready for a change. Maybe it wasn't the smartest decision, but she knew she had to make it before she went mad. The night before, Sadie made a phone call to Darry, who offhandedly mentioned he wasn't working the next day, either. After she thought about it for a moment, Sadie realized it had been quite a long time since she'd spent any real time with her older brother, so she made her way to the bus stop and paid him a visit at her old, childhood home.

For a moment, as Sadie walked up to the door, she almost thought Soda would be there to let her inside. But when Ponyboy came to the door and looked at her with bored eyes, Sadie was reminded of the unfortunate truth.

"Ponyboy?" Sadie asked.

"Yeah," Ponyboy said. "What's the matter? Ya don't recognize me?"

In truth, it was getting increasingly difficult for Sadie to recognize this version of Ponyboy as her kid brother. Sometimes, when she looked at him, he didn't look different at all. He was just Pony – the dreamy tagalong who knew how to pack a bunch but preferred a pack of colored pencils. He had pink cheeks and a cherubic smile when he was in the right mood. It took years for the elder three Curtis siblings to stop calling him _cute _to his face, and it took even longer for them to stop calling him cute behind his back. Yes, there were times when Sadie looked at her youngest brother, and she still saw him as a little baby boy. But now, more and more often, when Sadie saw Ponyboy, she saw a man.

He was taller than Sadie remembered. He'd been taller than she was for about two or three years, and he was getting more muscular. Though he no longer ran track, he still kept up with his exercise regimen. If he played his cards right, he could have ended up as brawny as Darry by the end of 1969. His jaw was more refined – more masculine and more adult. The pink in his cheeks faded more and more with each passing day. It almost seemed unfair to still call him _Ponyboy_. This was no boy. Much to Sadie's nostalgic dismay, her little brother was a man.

To top it all off, there was something in his smirk that made him look like Soda. But Sadie wasn't anywhere near ready to contend with that.

"Very funny," she said.

"'Cause I hardly recognize _you_," Ponyboy said. "You're gettin' bigger than our whole house."

"You're too kind."

"Darry says I'm too honest."

"Does Darry also say you're not too good with sarcasm? 'Cause Darry would be right."

Ponyboy rolled his eyes, and Sadie paid attention to the color – green. She thought back to a time when they were both kids, and Ponyboy complained of his eye color to his sister. He thought green eyes were untrustworthy or mean. Sadie said she didn't understand. She had brown eyes, and she thought they were boring as could be. She would have killed to have lively, bright, green eyes like Ponyboy. Why did he hate them so much? He shook his head and told her that he'd recently thumbed through Darry's copy of _Othello_, which he read for eleventh-grade English. Iago, the villain, called jealousy the green-eyed monster, and Ponyboy didn't want anyone to think that was true of him. Of course, it _was _true, and even then, he was aware of it. It was all the more reason to deny it.

"I take it you ain't here to see me," Ponyboy said.

"No, but it ain't personal," Sadie said. "I thought you had class on Tuesday afternoons."

"Last semester. This semester, I got Tuesdays off."

Sadie nodded, and she felt herself blush a bit. In theory, she understood how college coursework and scheduling operated. Classes only lasted for a semester – not a full year, as they did in high school. Theoretically, Sadie knew that. Of course, since she'd never actually attended college, it was difficult for her to conceive of education that way. Her memory was stuck in a life from bell to bell, telling her when she was allowed to eat or when she was allowed to go to the bathroom. She didn't know freedom like Ponyboy knew freedom. And most days, she was not resentful of that fact. But some days … like that day in January … she felt like the green-eyed monster her brother so wanted to avoid.

"I was tryin' to see Darry," Sadie said. "He here?"

"Yeah, but you better make it quick," Ponyboy said. "It's gettin' closer and closer to 3:00, and Darry likes to leave the house to pick up Jimmy from school at 2:30. He don't like to keep the kid waitin'."

Sadie nodded as she stepped inside. She'd nearly forgotten about all the changes that were happening between her and her brothers. Where Ponyboy was becoming more and more like a man with each passing day, Darry was becoming more and more like a father – for real this time. He'd been going steady with Lynnie for what felt like years already, and though she hadn't officially moved into the Curtis house, she was there often enough to make it feel like it was her new home. Darry was attached to her son, Jimmy, to the point where Jimmy threw a fit if Darry wasn't the one to pick him up from preschool at the end of the day. Darry had been a good guardian to his three siblings, and Jimmy got to benefit from the things he learned by taking care of them. Everything seemed like it was falling into some sort of place.

But then Sadie turned her head to look at Soda's room. It was filled with baby toys and diapers and a changing table that Darry had put together shortly after Lucy gave birth to Elenore. Soda's comforter was obscured by Elenore's favorite books and a ton of Jimmy's clothes. Almost no trace of him could be found in that room. And just when it seemed like everything was falling into some sort of place for the Curtis family, everything clicked out of place at the same time. There was no way everything could be fluid if they were missing their most important piece.

Darry walked out of his room and saw Sadie standing outside of Soda's room. In that moment, he wanted to say something to her. He wanted to apologize for allowing Lucy and Lynnie to use Soda's room as a place to keep things for their kids when they came to visit. They should have been more respectful of Soda's memory, of course. But then, Darry realized he had no need to apologize – not really. They didn't need to preserve Soda's memory. He wasn't dead. He was coming home. He lived inside of his letters. When Darry opened his most recent letter from his middle brother, he could practically hear the kid's voice ringing off the page – spelling errors and all. Soda was alive in all ways. There was no stopping that. There wasn't a real problem with putting the kids' things in his room because they all needed to stop and make room for the future. Besides, Darry thought. Soda would appreciate it if he knew his room had been overtaken by some of the cutest kids the world had ever seen.

"Hey!" he said. "Thought I heard your voice at the door."

"Surprise," Sadie said. "You were right."

"C'mere, kid."

Sadie opened her arms, and Darry scooped her up into the biggest, tightest hug he'd given her in years. Before she knew it, Sadie was closing her eyes and breathing deeply into her brother's comforting chest. He felt just like home. Quietly, Sadie chastised herself for not hugging Darry more often. Though he wasn't her twin, he did understand what it meant to grow up Curtis. He understood what it was like to give all your love to Ponyboy, only for Ponyboy to spit in your face because you were a safe person to attack. Perhaps Darry could read her mind and her heart better than she realized, because the moment Sadie tried to speak, Darry was able to fill in the gaps for her.

"You seem lonely," he said. "Is that right?"

Sadie lifted her head from his chest a bit and nodded, trying hard not to burst into tears. Darry had dealt with bawl babies all of his life, but she didn't want to add to his stress. She knew he was grieving Soda's absence, too. They might not have been twins, but Soda was Darry's first kid brother. There was a specialness there – a different specialness, but a specialness nevertheless – that Sadie couldn't comprehend, but she knew (now) that it was real. The last thing she wanted to do was reduce it to anything trivial.

"Johnny's gonna have to work a little later tonight," Sadie said. "And it's good for him to be with that family. I know it is. They treat him like he's the son they never had."

Darry nodded.

"Must make him feel pretty good about himself, huh?"

"Definitely. And I'm so, so happy for him. Even if he stays an extra hour with his boss and his wife, catching up … but I … when he's not home, I miss him, and I hate being alone with no one to talk to."

Darry took Sadie in for another hug. She relaxed, but it was brief.

"You ain't alone," Darry said. "You know you got tons of family, don't ya?"

"But do I, Darry?" Sadie asked. "Think about it, man. Pony's busy with school, and he hates me."

"He does not hate you."

"He hates me in the way all little siblings hate their big siblings. You know that. He used to hate you."

Darry didn't say anything. He didn't like to think back to that time. For years already, he and Ponyboy had been in a good spot. Ponyboy came to Darry with his problems now. He trusted him. In fact, Darry was the only person in the world who knew why Ponyboy was still so reluctant to commit to Carrie Shepard. He hadn't even told Soda. Darry loved the position he and his youngest sibling were in. When Sadie brought up the past, it felt almost like she was going to jinx the future.

"Yeah," Darry said. It was about all he could manage.

"Well, regardless," Sadie said. "I can't talk to Pony. And I can't talk to you, since you're so busy with Lynnie and Jimmy lately."

"That don't mean I can't make time for my sister."

"That ain't what Pony says. He says you gotta be to the preschool to pick up Jimmy in, like, five minutes."

"Then you'll come with me."

"Will they let you do that?"

"You're my sister. Of course they'll let me do that. Come on. We're goin'."

"Darry, man, you really ain't gotta do this. I'm fine on my own."

"No, you ain't. If you were fine, ya wouldn't have trudged all the way out in the cold to see your big brother. You need to talk to somebody, and I ain't in the business of turnin' you away. Zip up your coat, Sadie Lou. We're goin' to preschool."

And so, Sadie Lou Curtis Cade zipped up her coat, just like her older brother ordered her to do. She followed him out the door, into the truck, and down toward the preschool where Jimmy Jones spent his days. As they waited in the truck for Jimmy to come out of school, Darry tried to convince Sadie to tell him what was really bothering her.

"It ain't just that you feel lonely," Darry said. "I don't buy that."

"Well, ain't you smart," Sadie said.

"What's the matter, kid? I got nothin' but time."

Sadie exhaled loudly. She rubbed her belly and felt the baby kick at her. Even though she didn't want to, she had to laugh a little. Even though the baby didn't understand language or what was really going on outside, the kid must have known exactly what Sadie wanted to talk about.

"It's hard when Johnny's at work most of the day 'cause I ain't got anybody to listen to what I'm worried about," she said. "And I'm worried about … this."

She gestured to her body, particularly her belly, which seemed to swell more and more with each passing minute.

"This what?" Darry asked. He was only being partially facetious.

"This whole bein' a parent thing. In case you forgot, I never done this before."

Darry sort of, almost, laughed.

"I remember," he said. "But it doesn't matter."

"What do you mean it doesn't matter? Do you know how hard it is to do something without experience?"

"Yeah, I do, as a matter of fact. I took care of you and Soda and Pony for years before y'all ventured out on your own. I never done that before. Think I did OK."

"OK, sure, but ya gotta admit. Soda and I were sixteen. Pony was only thirteen, but still. Mom and Dad did most of the legwork with us."

Darry sort of, almost, laughed. It was becoming acceptable to laugh about his parents again. It had taken years, but they were finally there. He could finally remember them with only the faintest sting of grief left behind.

"Fair enough," he said. "But Mom and Dad ain't had kids before me. Think they did a decent job then, don't you?"

"They did. Of course they did. But it doesn't matter."

"Why not?"

"I ain't Mom. I ain't nowhere near as good of a lady as Mom was."

Darry turned his head and furrowed his brow at his only sister. Surely her pregnancy was affecting her memory, he thought. She couldn't have believed that their mother was some sort of saint – not when she'd met and lived in the same house as the woman.

"What?" Sadie asked, off his look.

"You're outta your mind, kid," Darry said. "Mom was a good lady. Sure. But she wasn't some angel."

"She always made a big deal out of little things. She never made us feel like we were disadvantaged. I didn't even know we were poor until I met Soc kids at school. Mom always put us first."

"Yeah, sure. 'Cept when she didn't. Don't you remember when she sent Pony down to the DX for a carton of cigarettes, and he got caught in the middle of a thunderstorm on the way home, tryin' to get 'em back to her?"

"The DX is close by."

"He was _seven_."

Sadie sighed.

"OK, maybe Mom wasn't perfect," she said.

"Of course she wasn't perfect. Don't you remember that other time when she forgot to pick you up from school 'cause she was watchin' _Guiding Light _on the tube?"

"It was a simple mistake."

"She forgot her own daughter."

Sadie raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Damn, Darry," she said. "I guess I didn't realize you were so pissed at Mom."

"I am," Darry said. "I think I'll always be a little bit pissed off at her. And Dad, too. For dyin'. For sometimes puttin' themselves before us. Guess it's harder for you to remember now, ain't it?"

Sadie nodded.

"When I think of Mom, I think of the lady who helped me get ready for my first dance in junior high," she said. "I think of the lady who made a big deal out of watching live musicals on TV and givin' Lucy a hard time about pourin' her own glass of water or wearin' muddy shoes in the house. I guess when we lost 'em, it was easier to forget about the bad stuff."

"It happens," Darry said. "Pony thinks they might as well be angels. He ain't right, but I don't see any use in correctin' him. He deserves to think well of our folks. They were good people, but they weren't perfect, like how he writes about 'em. But if that's how he has to remember 'em, fine by me."

"Then why would you bother to correct me?"

"'Cause you're runnin' around, comparin' yourself to Mom, and it's like you don't even remember how shitty Mom could be sometimes. It's like you don't even remember that she could be selfish. Like you forgot about how sometimes, she forgot about us."

"What's your point?"

"C'mon, Sadie. You _know _my point."

Reluctantly, Sadie sighed and nodded. She didn't want the conversation to be over yet. She liked listening to Darry. Even when he wasn't being particularly warm with her (as though Darry knew how to be particularly warm, which he probably didn't), he was reassuring. He was almost like … well, he was almost like their mother in that way.

"You're gonna do some shitty things as a mother," Darry said. "You can pretty much bank on 'em. I don't know what they're gonna be, and neither do you. But you best believe they're gonna happen. They might even sneak up on you."

Sadie brushed her hand across her cheek and was startled to see that she was crying. She wiped away a couple of hot tears, sniffed sharply one time, and continued to listen to Darry. He was much wiser than she remembered. Maybe it was all those years of playing a mother and a father to a group of grieving teenagers. Any way it happened, Sadie was grateful in the moment.

"Just because you're gonna do some shitty things," Darry said, "don't mean you're gonna be a shitty mom. That ain't the way it works – not unless you let it work that way, and I don't think you will."

Sadie sniffed again and nodded. Darry reached for her hand and squeezed it in his big, welcoming palm. For a moment, Sadie wished he would never let go. She liked the thought of someone _getting _her when Soda and Johnny weren't around. She liked the feeling that she was being taken care of – not that she was the one who had to worry about taking care of someone else. The fact that she'd have to worry about that (and only that) in such a short period of time was daunting for her. It was almost too daunting to think about. So, she squeezed Darry's hand tighter, and for a little while, she envisioned herself as a little girl again – one with no responsibilities and no fears.

But then, of course, the baby kicked again.

This time, instead of feeling like she was going to double over in existential pain, Sadie felt a wide grin spread across her face. She forced her brother's hand onto her belly to feel for the baby – to see if it would kick again.

"I can't believe it!" Sadie said.

"Haven't you felt the kid kick before?" Darry asked. "Lynnie said ya should've felt it by now."

"Well, I have. But it's like … it's like this kid wants me to know I'm gonna be OK," Sadie said. "It's like the kid can hear me or something. Like … like it knows it wants me to be its mother more than any of the other mothers in the world."

"That's a sure lot to get out of a kick, Sadie."

"I know, but I can pretend."

Sadie looked down at her belly one more time and smiled. It wasn't that she dreaded motherhood. She didn't. She was looking forward to meeting her baby – to giving it a name and taking it home to raise it as a kind, loving, and lovable little human being. Being a mother was terrifying for Sadie, but at the same time, she knew it was what she wanted. She knew that it was meant to be. The anxiety didn't come from a secret desire to run away. Instead, the anxiety came from a fear that everyone else would run away from her.

She knew that had to be ridiculous. Johnny was a wonderful husband, and he had wanted a baby just as badly as Sadie did (if not, in some respects, more). He wasn't going anywhere. Her brothers were looking forward to being uncles for the first time. They weren't going anywhere. And Lucy …

Lucy was the problem, more or less.

Around Christmastime, Lucy had finally opened up to Sadie about her maternal anxieties. She wasn't sure she was a good enough mother to Elenore, and she wasn't sure a domestic life in Tulsa was enough for her (or enough for her baby and her husband). She said she felt like she was on an island with Elenore – trapped with no assistance and no place to go. Motherhood wasn't a reversible decision, and once you had a baby, Lucy said, you lost a large part of yourself. The part of you that once remembered things like friends' birthdays or favorite songs was gone, and if it wasn't completely gone, it was quick to deteriorate. That freedom that used to be yours immediately went to your child. And it was a worthy sacrifice. There was no one Lucy loved more than Elenore Winston – no one for whom she wished a better or more rewarding future. She was sure Sadie would feel the same way about her baby.

But did Sadie _want _to lose her freedom? Did she want to lose herself, even if it meant raising up her child in the process? Perhaps the answer was yes. Sadie knew the importance of sacrifice in love (and that love could not exist without sacrifice). There was still a part of her that feared losing herself when she'd spent so many years trying to get OK with the person she was. It was only recently she discovered that she was more than Sodapop Curtis's ugly twin sister. It was only recently she discovered she (probably) wasn't ugly at all. And now, she was expected to put herself behind? When she'd just realized she was worth prioritizing?

She worried she was already a terrible mother for thinking this way. What kind of a mother wasn't fully excited and fully prepared to put her child first?

The baby kicked again. It was a reminder to Sadie that no matter what she did, from then on, she would never be alone.

It was equal parts terrifying and reassuring. She wondered if Lucy felt the same way. But since she wasn't ready to watch Lucy sob on the bathroom floor ever again, she decided to keep the reflective questions to herself. It was better for everyone that way (most of all, the baby).

Darry took Sadie's hand one more time and squeezed it hard. He could almost hear his sister's thoughts radiating from her face. He might not have been her twin, but over the years, he had become especially apt at reading Sadie's emotions. Years earlier, when Darry expressed anxiety about not being able to connect with his one and only sister, Soda had given him some tips about how to level with Sadie. Sadie never figured that out.

"You are not going to lose yourself to motherhood," Darry said. "You ain't gonna find yourself so alone that you stop bein' Sadie and start bein' Mommy. It ain't gonna happen."

"It happened to Lucy," Sadie said.

"Lucy only thinks it's happening to her. She knows it ain't. We all love you and your babies too damn much to let ya fall to the wayside. We're here for you, Sadie Lou. _I'm _here for you."

And then, Sadie did something she hadn't done since she was fifteen years old. She curled up next to Darry and rested her head on his shoulder, seeking comfort … and something else, though she wasn't sure she could quite name it. Eventually, she would be able to name it, but only after she became a mother.

And in that way, Sadie still would never lose what made her Sadie. It would just make her _more _that way.

"Thank you," she said.

"It'll all come together soon," Darry said.

"Can you promise me that?"

"I can. Don't know how much it'll mean, but …"

"From you? It means everything."

In that moment, Sadie wanted almost nothing more than to tell Darry that she was grateful for everything he'd done. She wanted to tell him that there was some part of her that wasn't scared to be a mother because she'd learned, not only from their own mother, but from him as well. But she knew Darry. He would have been too humble about it. It was one of Sadie's favorite things about him (and a trait of his she'd often rely on as she became older and, to her surprise, more independent).

"My baby's lucky to have such an uncle," Sadie said.

She still hadn't taken her head off her brother's shoulder. She couldn't bring herself to do it, nor did Darry want her to. The gesture was about more than just the two of them. It was about their parents – about Ponyboy and Johnny. It was about Lynnie and Jimmy and _Jane_.

It was about Soda. But that, of course, went without saying.

"He's luckier to have such a mom," Darry said.

They were quiet for a long time afterward, peacefully waiting for Jimmy to come meet Darry at the car once his teacher walked the class out of the building. It was the first time in ages Sadie felt understood by a brother who wasn't Soda. She wouldn't tell Darry about that. If she did, she was afraid he would think their moment wasn't special, and she knew it was.

The baby must have known it, too. For as long as Sadie sat quietly with her big brother, the baby wouldn't stop kicking.

* * *

_January 20, 1969_

_Dear Johnny,_

_ I realized earlier today that you and Sadie are gonna have that baby in less then 3 months. 3 months! How are you feeling about it? If I were you I think I would be pretty nervous. Your gonna be a good daddy. I known that about you since we was all just kids. You always been so pashent with Ponyboy even when he was just a little kid. You were always so good at making him feel welcome. I know youll love your kid twice as much as you always loved our kid brother. Sadie remembers that. Im sure of it. I hope she tells you all the time but I know shes excited to have this baby and I know shes even more excited that shes having it with you. She loves you something awful. I hope she tells you everyday. I know she does. Shes my sister and I know her better then almost anybody in the world … besides you now._

_ But I aint writing to you so I can talk about Sadie. I wanna ask you some things now that your gonna be a daddy. Do you think it changes you? Thats probably a dumb questoin. Of course it changes you. I guess what I wanna know is how it changes you. Do you feel more ashured of yourself? Less? Do you even think about what you want anymore or is it just about your wife and your baby? That one aint a trap neither. I know your married to my sister but I really wanna know what it feels like when you become a dad. I could ask Dally but you know he aint gonna tell me jack. That aint how hes built even now that hes been with Lucy a long time and Elenore will be 2 years old before any of us know it. Im real happy Ill be around to see her second birthday. Hurts my heart I wasnt there when she turned 1. But that aint the point. How do you feel Johnny? How do you feel knowing that your whole life is about to change? How do you feel knowing that what you say and think and feel aint just about you any more?_

_ I dont really know why Im asking. When I get back I wanna marry Jane and I want us to have kids of our own. But since we all know Lucy and Dally are having issues of their own and I dont know whats really going on with you and Sadie I figured Id ask. See what you thought._

_ For what its worth Johnny I know youll be a great dad. My family is real lucky to have you as a part of it now. We lose our cool a lot. We let our emotions kinda guide us through life, even Darry, though he aint gonna admit that to anybody's face or nothing. You always keep your cool. A Curtis-Cade kid is gonna need that. Now if you could just get the kid's Aunt Lilly to be cooler than cool too … then wed be in bisness! Picture me laughing cause you know I aint gonna make fun of nobody's sister. My family is real lucky to have you Johnny man. I dont know what else to say. Just know that its real, real true._

* * *

It had been nearly two weeks since Lucy talked to Dr. Farwell about going out of the state to achieve her Ph.D. in English. In those two weeks, she hadn't talked to Dally about what he thought of her plans for studying. Previously, they'd talked about Lucy's desire to pursued an advanced degree, and previously, Dally had been nothing but supportive. He knew he had a very talented and very clever wife. That, of course, was all in the past. Since Dally had refused to accompany Lucy and Elenore to Dr. and Mrs. Bennet's Thanksgiving dinner two months earlier, Lucy wasn't sure how Dally would react to her dream, which was rapidly becoming a goal and a reality.

Although Lucy had a number of reasons for being worried to discuss her plans with Dally, none of them topped the first concern she had when she thought about it: She didn't want Dally to ask for a divorce. It felt funny, and she knew that. Years earlier, when they were eighteen and reckless and got married because the Curtis twins joked that they should, Lucy might have welcomed the divorce. She might have chocked their marriage up to lapse in her young-adult judgment … a funny foray into recklessness before she really buckled down and committed to her career as a scholar.

But, alas, that wasn't what had happened. Lucy had fallen in love with Dallas Winston. She'd been in love with him since she was fourteen years old and new to Tulsa. Now, she understood that. Their quickie marriage had made her fall in love with him even more, and the way he was with Elenore … it was enough to make Lucy melt, even in her condition (which she still didn't understand – not completely, anyhow). In her heart of hearts, Lucy knew that she wanted to resolve her issues with Dally. She knew that she wanted to stay married to him, and she knew she wanted him to see things from her point of view. She knew she wanted to ask him if he would help her be more than just a wife and a mother. Why weren't the words coming out yet? Even when he asked her to tell him her troubles, her jaw was locked up too tightly. She knew she had to act quickly. Even Dallas Winston had his limits, and she was quite sure he was meeting them with regard to her … with regard to _his wife_.

When Lucy came home from class one early afternoon, Dally didn't hear her come in. He was getting ready for his midday shift at the grocery store, and as he dressed himself, he talked to Elenore in her crib.

"You're gonna grow up to have a job ya love, baby girl," Dally said. "I promise ya that. Hear me?"

"Hear you," Elenore said.

Lucy's heart glowed with love. Her daughter had certainly inherited the Bennet family's way with language. She was ahead of most kids in her speech, and Lucy couldn't help but be proud.

"I don't want ya to work at a grocery store," Dally said. "At least, not forever. I mean, if you're in high school or somethin', and ya wanna save up to buy your own car, I'd be OK with it if ya worked at a grocery store. Your ma and I ain't gonna be able to buy you a car by ourselves. That's for sure."

Lucy's heart swelled with hope. She was just thrilled to feel _something _again – something about being a wife. Dally must have had hope for the two of them, too. Maybe she could talk to him about her future (_their _future) without the fear that he would ask her for a divorce. She felt a rock develop in her gut. A divorce could mean that she would lose Elenore. She couldn't deal with that. She especially couldn't deal with it now that she had finally reconnected with her little one.

But maybe it didn't matter. Maybe Dally wanted her all the way back as much as she wanted to be all the way back.

"Song," Elenore said.

"Your song?" Dally asked.

"Yeah, Dad. Yeah."

Dally smirked to himself and walked over to the record player. The house was filled with the sound of pop music.

"_You got a thing about you / I just can't live without you / I really want you, Elenore, near me …_"

Elenore clapped her hands, and though Lucy couldn't see her, she wanted to fall over with love for her child. She wanted to fall over with joy that she could finally _feel _something again. Maybe this would be the day she was brave enough to be honest with Dally. But as he continued to speak to his little one, the hope inside Lucy's heart began to fade away, little by little.

"I'm sorry I didn't seem too into this song when Darry and Lynnie brought it over," Dally said. "I was real happy for you, gettin' your name in a song and all that. It's fun."

"Fun," Elenore repeated.

"Yeah, real fun, baby girl. I'm sorry I didn't say much about it before. I was pretty mad at your ma. You know? You probably do. You're so smart. You probably know more about what's goin' on between me and her better than we do."

"Hmm."

"You think on it. Sounds like a plan. Anyway, point is, I'm real sorry I took it out on you, pretty baby. I was mad at your mom. But that don't mean I gotta take it out on you. You and me … we still tight, ain't we?"

"Dad."

Dally laughed a little. It was a warm chuckle that nearly sent Lucy over the edge with love. She wanted to burst in between them and tell them how sorry she was for being so distant and so cold all these long months, but she knew that was probably the worst thing she could do. This was Dally and Elenore's moment. She could have only ruined it. There was nothing Lucy Bennet could do but stand still and listen – two of the hardest things she ever had to master in her lifetime.

"Yeah, that's me," Dally said. "I'm gonna grab my shoes, OK?"

"OK."

Lucy's eyes widened with panic. She didn't want Dally to know she'd been standing in the living room the whole time, listening to him have this sweet moment with their daughter. He would have been livid – about what, Lucy didn't really understand, but she knew it nevertheless. Dally was always looking for reasons to be angry, even after he was, supposedly, happily married and a loving father to his tiny daughter. But she couldn't have snuck out the door and pretended like she was only just walking in. Dally knew her too well, and she wouldn't have been able to pull it off. Ultimately, because Dally knew Lucy too well, she decided to stay put and let the chips fall where they may, even if they clobbered the top of Lucy's head on the way down.

When Dally stepped out of Elenore's bedroom, he skidded to a halt in his tracks as soon as he saw Lucy standing there. She awkwardly waved at him, unsure of what else she could possibly do. She thought it was strange for there to be so much tension in her own home. Then again, the apartment directly above Great Books wasn't feeling so much like their home anymore. Elenore was nearly two years old, and soon, she would grow out of the crib Darry built for her. She needed space to be a kid, and this apartment didn't give her that space. Perhaps if Lucy and Dally were in a better place as a couple, she would have mentioned something about it to him under different circumstances. Perhaps it would have even been a little bit of fun – all that discussing about where their family could realistically end up.

That just wasn't the way things were anymore. Now, when Dallas Winston saw his own wife in their own home (_apartment_), he skidded to a halt in his own tracks. Lucy tried not to hate herself for that, but she was unsurprisingly unsuccessful.

"How long have you been there?" Dally asked. It wasn't accusatory, which Lucy thought was a good sign.

"I don't know," Lucy said. It was easier to shut down that part of the conversation.

Dally snorted. He didn't believe her for a minute. There was no one in the world he knew better than he knew Lucy Bennet (except for, arguably, Elenore Winston), and if she said she didn't know the answer to a simple question, there was almost a 100% guarantee that Lucy was lying about something. Of course, they weren't in a place to have a dialogue like that. Dally wished that they were, but he knew better than that. But as he looked at Lucy that day, falling in love with the seriousness in her dark blue eyes just like he had years and years prior, there was only one thing on his mind: He hoped that seriousness wasn't a result of Lucy wanting to ask him for a divorce.

"Hmm," Dally said, echoing Elenore's own response to his previous question. "You look like you got somethin' on your mind. You gonna tell me about it, or are you gonna get real silent about it and force me to guess for half a year? Take your pick. I got all day."

And for the record, Lucy wanted nothing more than to speak up. She wanted to sit Dally on the couch and tell him the truth about everything. She wanted to tell him that she felt ineffectual as a wife and a mother, but she felt like she wasn't allowed to be anything in addition to that. Lucy wanted to tell Dally that she loved him and Elenore so much, and she never wanted to leave them behind, no matter what happened. She wanted to reach out and ask him about how he felt about her going to graduate school – if he would be willing to move out of Tulsa while she studied the thing she was most passionate about (other than their family). Lucy wanted to say it all, and she finally felt prepared.

Then, of course, she focused on Dally in that _dumb fucking vest_, and she knew it meant that he was already running late for work. She knew that in spite of her husband's unadulterated hatred for that bag-boy job, he never wanted to lose it. He knew he couldn't afford to lose it. After all, he had a family to look after. That job meant a lot to Dally, even with respect to the monotonous work and barely livable paychecks. Lucy couldn't make him late and put him at risk for losing it.

She walked over to him and kissed his lips swiftly, which surprised him. It had been weeks since Lucy kissed him, and he was excited to feel her touch again. Somehow, it was better after all that time away.

"I don't want you to be late," Lucy said. "Maybe we can talk when you get home?"

If Dallas Winston had been a beaming man, he would have beamed right then and there. He'd been waiting months for Lucy to finally open up to him. He'd been waiting months to feel like she was really there for him again. In just two sentences, she'd eliminated both of his fears. As he kissed her back, it was the first time in what felt like centuries that Dally actually looked forward to meeting up with Lucy after his shift at the grocery store.

For the rest of the evening, Dallas Winston and Lucy Bennet clung to what they thought was their last thread of hope. They had no idea that more storms were to come. After all, it was only January.

* * *

**That brings us to the end of this chapter! We've still got February, March, and April left … getting closer to the end. I would have had this up last week, but I just started back up at school, so I've been really busy. My teaching load doubled from last semester, so juggling that this term will be interesting. I know, of course, that I'll have a lot of fun. :) I also wanted to get "Curious" up before this chapter, as it picks up about a week after Katie's conversation with Jane at Jay's. Visit that story to find out a little more!**

**Writing in my narrative voice has been a lot of fun and a big challenge lately. I've been re-watching **_**Jane the Virgin**_**, and every time I write for the narrator in this fic, I just hear the narrator's voice from **_**JtV**_**. Hope it wasn't extremely obvious, those of you who are familiar with the series!**

**Hinton owns **_**The Outsiders**_**. I quote "Elenore" by The Turtles, which I clearly don't own. I own a set of purple bed sheets. OK, I own **_**multiple **_**sets of purple bed sheets, but that's only because you asked.**


	13. Chapter 13

In the first week of February, Dallas Winston went down to the DX with plenty of things to say. He'd been thinking of them for weeks and wondered why he hadn't said anything, as this was the kind of thing he usually felt somewhat comfortably talking about. But when he arrived at the station to find Steve behind the counter (and Two-Bit leaning against a shelf of beers), he remembered why he'd stayed silent. For a moment, he forgot the truth. For a moment, he expected that Soda would be behind the counter, waiting to listen to him.

As soon as Dally saw that it was just Steve and Two-Bit – as soon as he entered back into sanity – he tried to find his way out. But Steve leaned over the counter and made him stay, anyway.

"C'mon, Dally," Steve said. "You can't go yet. Me and Two-Bit were just takin' bets."

"What're ya bettin'?" Dally asked. Perhaps it wasn't the wisest question, but if there were serious coin involved, he was potentially interested. He wanted to buy Elenore the best things, after all.

"Just braggin' rights," Two-Bit said. "Both of us is too poor to really bet any money."

"Well, then, what're ya bettin' _on_?"

"How Soda's gonna be when he comes back," Steve said, and Dally was shocked by how cavalier he sounded. "I think he's gonna lash out and try to do somethin' to Sadie or his new baby nephew."

"And I think that's fuckin' nuts," Two-Bit said. "Soda's gonna be different when he gets back home, but he ain't gonna be evil. He ain't gonna be violent."

"Whadda you _think _Soda's like these days?" Steve asked, practically glaring at Two-Bit from behind the counter. "I know he's a nice guy, but he's got a dangerous side to him. He's fucked a few guys up in rumbles before. He's gotten pretty pissed off. I think he's gonna almost hurt somebody when he gets back."

And if Dally had been a bigger jackass, he probably would have pointed out what he was thinking at the time: Steve wanted Soda to have a reaction to the war similar to his own so that Steve didn't have to feel quite as guilty or quite as alone. Years earlier, it was exactly what he would have said. Of course, he was no longer that guy. He was Elenore Winston's father, and that meant something. It meant staying out of the fights that weren't worth getting into.

"I think he's gonna get quiet," Two-Bit said. "He ain't gonna want to talk to any of us for a long time. It'll be so different from the Soda we're all used to."

A different, younger version of Dally would have also told Two-Bit that he was projecting his trauma onto Soda in the hopes that he wouldn't feel alone in his response to the war, either. He wouldn't have used such high-dollar Lucy Bennet words to say it, but he would have said something. That felt certain. Instead, he thought of Elenore and how she looked at him as though he was worth something, and he nodded curtly.

"I don't really wanna take bets," Dally said. "Soda's just gonna be Soda. Whatever that means now."

"So, you're on my side," Two-Bit said.

"Naw, that means he's on mine," Steve said.

"Shut up, both of ya," Dally said. "I ain't takin' a fuckin' side."

He pointed directly at Steve, whose eyes got big with nervousness. Dally's pointing almost always led to a hospital visit. Of course, that was before.

"And you shouldn't even bring it up at all," Dally said. "You're supposed to be the kid's best friend, ain't ya? Shouldn't you hope he's OK when he gets back?"

"It's what I'm hopin'," Steve said. "But I know it ain't gonna come true."

Dally bowed his head a little bit. In truth, he was worried about how Soda would be when he returned home. He was worried about how Soda would behave with Elenore. Soda wrote all the time about being so excited to see his goddaughter again, but Dally couldn't help but fear what had happened to Steve would happen to Soda. He didn't want to leave his daughter all alone with a brand-new veteran, for fear that something would spook him, and he'd take it out on a little kid. Maybe that was inconsiderate. Dally wondered when he became the kind of guy who worried that things were inconsiderate. It didn't change the fact that it was who he was now – a guy who worried about other people. Of course, Dally knew he'd always been that guy. All he needed to do was ask Johnny.

"I ain't bettin' on Soda feelin' like shit when he comes back," Dally said, feeling progressively angry for a reason he didn't quite understand. "That ain't right, man. It ain't right. Even if it is real, it ain't right."

The three men were silent for what felt like years. Two-Bit didn't even know how to break the silence with some half-assed wisecrack anymore. He peeled the top of the brown bag that concealed his bottle of beer and tried not to think about the story Katie told him the night before. How could he have forgotten the way he behaved at the Dingo that night in early January? How could he have forgotten speaking that way to Lilly? He didn't know how to respond to it, but he knew he sure as hell couldn't share it with anybody, let alone Steve and Dally. He just pulled at the bag, knowing he shouldn't be drinking, but not knowing what else to do with his hands.

"Why'd you come down here, Dally?" Steve asked. "We know it wasn't so you could give us a hard time about Soda comin' home."

The truth was that Dally had come to the DX to talk to Soda about Lucy – a very specific problem he was having with (or without) Lucy. But he couldn't exactly be honest about it in front of Steve or Two-Bit. They would have laughed him into the next dimension. Dally wondered when he became the kind of guy who cared what people thought of him. It didn't take him long to realize he'd always been that kind of guy. If he hadn't been, he wouldn't have spent so much of his youth and adolescence trying to break all the petty laws on the books. After all, that was what people had come to expect from Dallas Winston, the most notorious hood in the neighborhood. The most notorious hood in Tulsa didn't go looking for someone he knew wasn't going to be there when he arrived. That seemed … _soft_.

It wouldn't, however, be soft to tell Steve and Two-Bit about the exact problem he was having with (or without) Lucy. In fact, that might be pretty tough. It wouldn't seem tough to begin with, but once they got into it, they were sure to realize it wasn't _his _fault. It could never be _his _fault. He was Dallas Winston, and he was notorious for a lot of things.

"I wanted to bitch about my wife," Dally said. The words tasted awful in his mouth. He'd never been the kind of man to stand around in a cluster of other (and, for some reason, always sweatier) men, talking about how much they hated their wives for existing and being women. Even before he'd gotten together with Lucy, he'd hated men like that. Marriage was a choice, even if you did accidentally knock up the girl you were dating before either of you were old enough to understand what a child meant. If you didn't want to marry the woman (or, more likely, the girl), you didn't have to. Dally had always been clear about that – an obvious reference to his childhood that he'd been too proud to really talk about, but that didn't change the fact that his friends understood where he was coming from, anyway. That day, when Dally said he wanted to bitch about Lucy, Steve and Two-Bit looked at each other like their friend was gone.

"What?" Dally asked.

"Nothin'," Two-Bit said. "It's just … you ain't ever said a thing like that about Lucy before."

"Well, I'm sayin' it now."

Dally didn't say he had phrased it that way as an attempt to fit in with the other guys in the gang. He didn't want them to know that he was, all of a sudden, desperate for companionship.

"Sure," Steve said. "Well, what's to complain about? I bet it's that she reads too many fuckin' books. I bet you can't even understand her."

"I can understand her just fuckin' fine," Dally snapped. In a way, it was a relief for him. He hadn't felt the need to snap in _defense _of Lucy in what felt like a long time. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, wondering when he became the kind of guy who ever felt awkward in front of two guys who weren't as cool as he was.

"And anyway," he said, more to the ground than to Steve or Two-Bit. "It's the fuckin' that's the problem?"

"What're you talkin' about?" Steve asked. "Lucy finally realize you're a slime ball and don't wanna climb all over ya?"

He laughed and tried to get Two-Bit in on it, but Two-Bit was looking out the window, still messing with the paper bag between his fingers. Steve's face fell. He wasn't sure what was going on (or at least that was what he told himself), but he didn't care for it.

"I ain't gone to bed with my wife since before fuckin' Christmas, man," Dally said, not really sure why he was admitting to it but not feeling too badly about it in the end. "I ain't even tried. Neither has she."

"'Cause you're a fuckin' slime ball," Steve said. "She probably just figured out how many broads you took to bed 'fore she came around. Probably feels a little less _special_."

In truth, Dally hadn't taken _that _many girls to bed before he found himself married to Lucy Bennet. There were only two before Sylvia, and Sylvia was the only woman before Lucy. It wasn't that he was uninterested in sex before Sylvia or Lucy came around. It was that he often found himself caught up in long stints in the reformatory … and doing the things that got him thrown into the reformatory, which largely did not concern the young women he knew. Even if Lucy wasn't the only woman he'd ever been with, she must have known she could still feel _special _with him. Dallas Winston would never have agreed to marry anyone else. She was the only one who understood him beyond his exterior. She was the only one who understood that his exterior wasn't a mask – just a layer to a man more complex and contradictory than anyone else really knew. Lucy Bennet should have felt every right to feel special to her husband. Dally just wasn't sure if she remembered it anymore.

"Hey, shut up," Dally said. "That ain't it, man. She just don't look at me the same way no more. I don't know. Sometimes I think she's gonna try to make a move, but then she just goes to sleep. I don't know. I feel like …"

He stopped. He wondered when he became the kind of guy who admitted to feeling anything out loud. He also wondered when he became the kind of guy who blamed himself for what seemed to be someone else's problem. Of course, again, he knew the truth. He'd always been that kind of guy. Lucy Bennet was just the only person in the world who could bring it out in him.

"I think I fucked up," Dally finally said. Maybe that sounded tough enough. Maybe it didn't. He was no longer sure how much he cared. Just as long as he got Lucy back in all the ways he once had her – in all the ways they once had and knew each other.

"What're you on about?" Steve asked. "Fuckin' New Year's Eve when you got drunk outta your mind? Embarrassed the shit out of her in front of just about everybody we know?"

"You ain't gotta say it like that," Two-Bit stepped in. "It ain't like he was sober. Ya can't just expect him to act the same way he would if he was dry. Booze'll do that to a guy."

Two-Bit took a long guzzle of his beer behind the paper bag. Dally and Steve looked at him, wondering if he'd find the poetics in what he'd just said. Naturally, however, he did not.

"She ain't gonna wanna touch a guy who makes her feel like a damn fool," Dally said. "It ain't nothin' she did. It's me. I'm the one who's …"

And though he was going to stop himself out of fear that he wouldn't sound tough, it was in that moment that Dallas Winston decided he would not care. He'd spent his entire life trying to toughen himself up. He'd built himself up as the kind of guy you couldn't just knock down. He wasn't just someone to fear. Without even realizing it, he thought back to that time Ponyboy left his journal wide open on the Curtis family's couch, and Dally had read that excerpt about himself. Pony had written that Dally was someone you had to respect. It had taken him years, but in that moment, Dally finally decided it was true. He _was _someone you had to respect. He'd earned that mantle long ago. And if he wanted to let his guard drop, even by an inch or two, in front of two people who knew him quite well, then he could. He was still Dallas Winston. He was still the toughest guy in the neighborhood.

"I'm the one who's the fuck up," Dally muttered. "I'm the reason she ain't been herself."

"I still don't know what the hell you're on about," Steve said. "What's that gotta do with the fact that she won't touch ya?"

Dally didn't touch Steve's question, although he knew he could have. He knew he could have struck a nerve with him, too. Without knowing it for sure, Dally was nearly certain that Evie hadn't touched Steve since the incident a few months earlier. The way Steve squirmed during their conversation that afternoon was enough to tip anyone off, especially a guy who'd known Steve since they were both children. Dally could have said something about the relationship between respect and sex (He wouldn't dare call it love. He couldn't go that far, no matter the strides he'd made since he was seventeen.), but he knew it would have sent Steve over the edge. Steve was always dangling over the edge – ever since he returned home. Dally wasn't going to be the one to push him off the precipice. He still felt too guilty that he wasn't dangling from the same cliff.

He thought of Soda, and his heart clenched.

"I don't know," Dally finally said, but it was a lie – clear to all three men in the store. "She's too smart to wanna be around a guy who don't treat her right."

"Well, there's an easy fix, ain't there?" Two-Bit asked. It was the first time in what felt like hours that his brain was cleared and operating on all cylinders. He'd finally stopped messing with the paper bag around his bottle of beer.

Dally turned to face him, furrowing a thick brow.

"Whadda you mean?" he asked.

"If you ain't likin' the way ya been treatin' your wife," Two-Bit said, "and you know she ain't been likin' it too much, neither, then you probably know how to fix it. Just talk to her. It can't be that fuckin' hard."

"I think that's the problem," Steve said. "It ain't hard at all."

He snickered through his teeth, and it wasn't until that moment when Dally realized that Steve's teeth were horrible to look at. He wondered if they'd always been that way. He wondered what would happen if he asked, but he knew he couldn't. Now that Steve had been in Vietnam, he wasn't the same guy who left them before – not entirely. The longer Dally looked at Steve, the more he saw something almost familiar in him. It wasn't a mirror, but it was a shadow.

"You been with Lucy since you were a kid now," Two-Bit said. "Ya never had a problem talkin' before."

"She ain't talkin' to me now," Dally said. "I don't know what the fuck's wrong with her 'cause she ain't talkin' to me. And if she ain't talkin' to me, she ain't touchin' me, and I …"

He stopped. This time, it wasn't because he was afraid of how he looked to the other two men in the room. This time, he wasn't sure where he was going or where he needed to go. Perhaps, he thought, it was OK.

"She won't talk to you," Two-Bit said. "I get it. I get it, you get it, Steve gets it … we all get it, even the rest of us who ain't hangin' around right now. But lemme ask you a question, Dally."

"I'm waitin' but not for long."

"Lucy ain't talkin' to you, but do you ever really ask her what's wrong?"

Dally stopped. It was a good question. When he thought about it, he knew the answer was no. He liked to tell Lucy that he could tell she wasn't feeling her best. He liked to complain that she was shutting him out. But they'd spent so much of their early marriage attempting to conceal their truest vulnerabilities from one another that they never figured out how to have a proper dialogue. They expected the other to come to them with their worries and anxieties and displeasures when they felt the time was right. Asking too many questions felt like prying. But maybe Two-Bit was right, even in his day-drunken stupor. Maybe Lucy and Dally were past the point of concealing their truths. Maybe it was time he grabbed the door for her rather than just propping it open without a word.

As it turned out, it wasn't Dally's moment of clarity – not immediately. The moment Two-Bit finished his bit of advice for Dally, he muttered something under his breath. Vaguely, it sounded like, "I gotta go." Before Dally or Steve could ask him what his problem was, he dashed out of the DX, only slightly stumbling on his way out and down the street. The remaining two men watched after him, perplexed. There was something almost delightful in watching Two-Bit try to move like that.

"Where d'you think he's off to?" Steve asked. "I swear I can hardly keep up with that son of a bitch these days."

Dally didn't answer the question. He didn't need to, and in the end, Steve already knew the answer. Both of them did. In the end, it was obvious where Two-Bit Mathews needed to be.

* * *

_February 7, 1969_

_Dear Steve,_

_ Man it was good to finally here from you. I been so worried about you and I aint been the only one. Dont tell him I told you or nothing but Dally wrote to me a little while back and told me you been acting less and less like yourself. Its gotta be pretty clear if Dally's noticing. I know me and you dont really talk about feelings too much. At least we never really talk about them for a long time. Just sorta realize theyre there. But things are changing for me too Steve. And if being away from you (from all of you) has taught me anything at all its that I cant afford to keep things locked up. If you keep things locked up your gonna go outta your mind. Maybe I should say the same thing to Two-Bit. I got a letter from Lilly not too long ago. Shes worried about him just like Dally and Jane are worried about you. Talk to Jane too. I know you guys aint always been the closest, since you started going with Evie years ago and everything. But Jane is still your sister. She still loves you. Dont forget about her. Shes my strength no matter where I am. I know she could be the same for you if you just let her._

_ Im rambling again. I can never seem to stop doing that can I? I think the reason I ramble so much in these letters is cause I miss you all so much. Its like I can never run out of things to say. Everything feels like the right thing. But really I decided to write you a letter today cause I was thinking about one thing. You ever look at yourself and think you were never really here? Like you were always back at home? Like the only violence you ever seen is between Dally and Tim Shepard over who slashed whose tires one night? You ever pretend like thats been the worst of it for you? I ask cause sometimes I take a step back and I pretend. Sometimes when Im having something to eat or taking a drink I think to myself that Im not really here. That Im gonna wake up in my bed or next to Jane or anywhere but here. Anywhere but in the damn jungle. Everyday, the damn jungle. Everyday the life getting sucked outta me or something. Steve I know you killed a boy over here. I know cause you told me and I know we dont talk about it much but I think we should. Sometime. If you dont think you can trust anybody in this world any more because you finally realize just how big this whole world is I want you to know you can trust me. I may not have seen the war through your eyes but I seen it through mine. I might not be able to help but I can listen._

_ I hope you can still listen to me. Starting now. Steve Im gonna tell you something and you gotta promise me you aint gonna tell my brothers or Sadie or Jane. Dont tell anybody but dont tell them the most. Im afraid theyd mess my words up or something. Since you been here before I know you would understand. But when you were here and maybe for a little while after you got back … maybe even now that you been back for awhile … did you ever wish that maybe you died over here? So that when you got back the people at home didnt have to know that your gonna be different for the rest of your life? I aint suisidal or nothing but I aint dumb. I cant spell very well but I aint dumb. I know that when Sadie thinks about me coming home and meeting her baby she expects that Im gonna be the same old Sodapop Curtis who shipped out back in April. But I aint. I dont know what Im gonna be when I get home but it aint gonna be the old me. I still almost feel like the old me sometimes here. But I know thats gonna change when I get home. I know thats gonna change when I see my sister again. And sometimes I wish I didnt have to put her through that. Do you ever feel the same way? With Jane? I know you and Jane havent been real close since you was kids but I know you still love her. And I know she loves you. She told me before. I dont know … maybe Im crazy for feeling this way. Probably am. You gotta promise not to tell nobody. I dont want my family worrying about me before they have to._

_ One things for sure though Steve. I do wanna see you again. I wanna listen to you. I wanna tell you things I been too scared to write. Ill be home soon. For now try to talk to Jane. I know she misses you. Tell her I miss her too. And you. I miss you. Who are you gonna be when I get home? – Sodapop Curtis_

* * *

After his run-in with Dally at the DX, Two-Bit knew exactly where he needed to go. He wasn't perfectly sober after the beer and a half he'd downed while talking to Steve at work, but he certainly wasn't as rip-roaring drunk as he had been that night at the Dingo when he'd run into his sister. At this point, he could barely remember that night – only what Katie told him about it. He knew that Katie wouldn't lie. She especially wouldn't lie after she told him the truth about herself, and the two of them swore to create a culture of honesty in their sibling relationship. Now, it was up to Two-Bit to be honest, too … just not with Katie.

It was almost five in the evening, which meant that Lilly's shift at Jay's was ending. If he got there a little after five, she would be punched out for the night and sitting tight at the counter, drinking a Coke like she always did at the end of her shift. Sure enough, as soon as Two-Bit arrived through the restaurant's front door, there was Lilly. She took her hair down from the waitress's ponytail she had it in and shook it out. She laughed and said something about sweaty being the new stylish, and Katie, whose shift behind the counter had just begun, chuckled too. Two-Bit watched his sister and her best friend – his Lilly Pad – joke around with each other, just like they always had, even when Two-Bit had been blind to his affection for Lilly. He wasn't blind anymore. He wouldn't allow himself to be mute, either.

Without either girl noticing his presence, he snuck over to the jukebox in the back of the restaurant. Perhaps predictably, he was going to choose a song for Lilly. Before he could touch the machine, however, he saw that Violet Winston was leaning up against it, smirking. His heart leapt into his throat. Violet looked like she really had in for him. They hadn't seen each other since she was about fifteen. It wasn't until he saw her that evening that Two-Bit remembered why. He touched his left cheek, where he had a small scar that almost no one ever noticed. Suddenly, he remembered the night it happened. He remembered where he'd been and who he'd been with. And oh, the things he must have said! He wanted to vomit at the fuzzy memories. He touched the scar again. It was clear, now, who must have given it to him.

"Well, well, well," Violet said. "Look who finally decided to show his face around me."

"Violet fuckin' Winston," Two-Bit said. "To what do I owe the displeasure?"

"Ya know, it's real funny. Last time me and you saw each other, you said the first part, but the second part was just the opposite."

"Look, I can only piece together a couple-a things from that night. I think I said some shit I didn't mean. Still don't mean it, as a matter of fact."

"I was fifteen."

"And I was drunk."

"Like that's an excuse."

Two-Bit sighed. He was remembering a bit more now. He was remembering that he was seventeen years old and turning eighteen (too) fast, and he was remembering all the places he put his hands on Violet Winston's body. He must have forgotten whose sister she was. He must have forgotten she could pack quite a punch herself. His eyes flickered toward the backdoor of the restaurant, which, like the greasy hangout in all the slimy neighborhoods, spilled into an alley. Yes, he remembered being dragged out into that alley now. The hands that dragged him were slimmer than his own, but they were unarguably more powerful … and much angrier. In the years since the incident behind Jay's, he'd had flashes of a fight, but he could never remember who was handing his ass to him. He remembered waking up, and he remembered how it hurt like hell for weeks afterward, even when he tried to make a joke about it and laugh. It was too clear now. How couldn't he have seen it before?

Part of Two-Bit wanted to abandon his plan to woo Lilly Cade and go find Dally – hand his ass to him now, all these years later. But he didn't. He couldn't. He thought back to 1965, before Dally got together with Lucy and everything started to shift in what had once been a more familiar neighborhood. He could clearly remember that night he broke the school windows and the morning after, when Dally willingly took the wrap and served time for it. After all these years, Two-Bit had never learned why. Now that he remembered making a piece of meat out of Violet and nearly getting beaten to death by her brother, he was even more confused about what Dally had done. At first, he thought it was simply something that friends did for one another. Dally, regardless of his youthful destruction, was his friend. But if Two-Bit had scraped the bottom of the barrel, why in the hell would Dally bother to rescue him?

"I'm sorry," Two-Bit finally said. "I know that don't count as an apology for what I must've done to you, and I know I probably can't make it up to you."

"You're damn right ya can't," Violet spat. "Don't you know what I went through when I was a kid? Don't ya know it got worse in those years ole Dally was gone?"

Violet swallowed hard. She never liked to admit that things were harder when Dally was in Brooklyn. It made her seem weak, and Violet Winston was not weak. She spent all those years Dally was gone trying to make it so. She wasn't just going to throw that away. She especially wasn't going to throw it away in front of Two-Bit Mathews, whom she hated (and yet wished she didn't hate).

"I'm sorry," Two-Bit said. "I know it ain't enough, but it's all I can say."

Violet folded her arms across her chest. She wasn't going to dignify this conversation with a response, so she figured it was better to change the subject. Just by showing up at Jay's, Two-Bit had humiliated her. It was time for her to see if she could turn the tables on him. That was what she was best at.

"What're you doin' here, anyway?" Violet asked. She was straining her voice to sound jaded. It was more painful than it had ever been – likely because it was laced with trauma, both from that night with Two-Bit and Dally and from all the nights and years before that one.

"Ya look like a man with a mission," Violet said.

"I am," Two-Bit said. "I was gonna put a song on the jukebox, but you seem to be hogging it like a …"

"Like a hog?"

"That ain't what I was gonna say."

"Don't matter. What song were you gonna play?"

"None of your business."

"Ah. Who were you gonna play it for, then?"

"I never said I was gonna play it for somebody."

"You did. In so many words."

"What's that mean?"

"You told me it was none of my business. That means it's for a broad, but you don't want me to know which one it is. Too bad. I already know. And you better back the hell off."

"You don't know shit."

"Oh, see, I _do _know shit. And I know you got some weird dance goin' on with Lilly Cade. She's in here all the time talkin' to your sister about it. She talks to anybody who will listen."

For a moment, Two-Bit's heart flickered with hope. But he saw a look of venom in Violet's eyes, and he knew that look couldn't translate to anything good. He braced himself for the inevitable bite and sting.

"You gotta lay off her, man," Violet said.

It was bizarre how much she sounded like Dally. Perhaps she was making an attempt. She was, but she wasn't going to admit that for a second.

"What're you talkin' about?" Two-Bit asked. He was hostile, though he didn't exactly want to be. If he wanted forgiveness and for Violet Winston to know he was a changed man (though in what way, he wasn't sure), then he couldn't be hostile.

"You ain't right in the head," Violet said. "You only tell her ya love her when you're drunk outta your mind. I ain't always been the biggest fan of Lilly Cade, but I can tell ya she deserves better than that."

Two-Bit wasn't sure what else to say, so all he managed was, "I ain't that drunk now!"

Violet scoffed. She was good at that. It was enough to cut even a tough hood like Two-Bit Mathews almost to the bone.

"Yeah," she said. "A little less than sober versus three sheets to the fuckin' wind. Makes a world of difference."

Two-Bit had no response. There wasn't a good one. He knew Violet was right. After all, she was related to Dally, and there weren't very many people out there who were smarter than Dally. Two-Bit certainly wasn't.

"Do yourself a favor," Violet said. "And do Lilly Cade a favor. Stay the hell away from her. Unless you got somethin' good to say … unless you wanna talk to her because of her, not to make yourself feel better about … somethin'."

Violet bit down on her tongue. She knew she hadn't phrased it well, but she hoped Two-Bit felt what she was trying to dish out, anyway. Based on the way he looked at the ground, she knew she'd done it. She made him feel pain like she had years earlier.

"Ain't it about time you got the hell outta here?" Two-Bit muttered. He didn't dare look Violet in the eye. It was too much of a risk.

"Yeah," Violet said. "Sure. I got somewhere to be."

She began to move past him, but before she could make her way out of the restaurant, she stopped in her tracks and pointed at him.

"You better not be far behind."

And then, just as randomly as she seemed to have appeared, Violet Winston was gone.

Two-Bit didn't dare watch after her. It would have caused too much pain. He would have spent too much time thinking about the boy he once was rather than the man he wished to become. Whenever he caught flashes of Lilly in his peripheral vision, he almost saw his future. He knew Lilly was in it, somehow. But maybe Violet was right. Maybe Lilly deserved better than what Two-Bit was at that moment in his life. He knew she did. It didn't change the fact that he wanted her.

And yet, what he desired didn't matter. Not really. If he loved Lilly Cade – and he was quite certain he did – then there was nothing to do but go. Of course, he wouldn't leave without a word, even if the words weren't his. He wanted Lilly to know he was there. He wanted her to know that even if it wasn't right away (like it seemed to be for Dally, as though that was fair), he was going to be different. One day, he was going to be enough for her.

He put his dime in the jukebox and selected the right song. He knew it would be there. As he took off through the backdoor and into the alley where he'd once taken a beating for behavior that felt quite a lot like this (and yet, not like this at all), he heard the opening lines. They sounded almost as clear as they would have if he'd actually spoken them.

"_There's a lot of things I want / a lot of things that I'd like to be / But girl, I don't foresee a rags-to-riches story for me …"_

As soon as she heard the opening lines to the song she recognized so well (and loved so deeply, though not without deep pain), Lilly whirled around. She hoped she'd find Two-Bit there. When she didn't, she was overwhelmed.

Why was she relieved?

* * *

There was almost no way Dally would still be at the DX, so Two-Bit figured he would try Great Books. Sure enough, right on the ground floor, there was Dally. He was sitting in the poetry section, holding Elenore on his lap, reading to her from a collection of William Butler Yeats.

"'Turning and turning in the widening gyre / The falcon cannot hear the falconer; / Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold …"

Dally slapped the book down on his knee, startling Elenore just a little bit.

"Your ma says you're into this Yeats guy now?" he asked.

"Yes, Dad," Elenore said. It was funny – a baby who still liked to chew on her fingers was interested in Modernist poetry. That was Lucy Bennet's daughter, all right.

Dally rolled his eyes.

"I ain't one to mock your tastes, baby girl," Dally said. "You know I ain't. But this … 's it OK if Daddy don't read it to you?"

"OK."

"Well, thank God. Daddy likes Anne Sexton better."

"Is that 'cause her name's got _sex _in it, and you ain't got sex in you no more?"

Two-Bit's voice made Dally almost jump but not quite. He might have been a father with his guard dropped just a little bit, he was still tough enough to keep his cool around somebody like Two-Bit. Dally covered Elenore's ears, though he was sure she'd been conditioned to know what was happening when her folks covered her ears by now. She was a smart kid, that Elenore Winston.

"What the fuck are you doin' here?" Dally asked. "I thought you were off goin' to tell Lilly ya loved her again."

"I never said that," Two-Bit said. "Did Violet already tell you?"

"You saw my fuckin' sister? I'll fuckin' kill you."

"It was an accident."

"Like hell it was."

"Dally, man, maybe you should take your mitts off your kid's ears. I don't want her gettin' an ear infection or somethin'."

Dally sneered something under his breath and took his hands off Elenore's ears. She looked up at him and beamed.

"She had a double ear infection last month," Dally said. "I don't know if you even remember. Me and Bennet had to take her to the doctor together. Bennet even had to miss a couple classes at school, and you know how much she hates to do that."

If Dally had been less angry with Two-Bit, he might have told him that it was the first time in a long time when he and Lucy felt like a team. It was the first time they had worked together without sniping at one another about the distance between them. When they linked up to take care of Elenore, it was like no time had ever lapsed between them at all. If Dally had been less angry with Two-Bit, there was a chance he would have told him all of that. But Dally _was _angry with Two-Bit. He'd been angry with the son of a bitch for years. Even when he wished he could stop being angry, the anger reared its ugly head again. Maybe it was something he could talk about with Lucy … if she was still interested in talking to him, that was.

"Yeah," Two-Bit muttered. "Glad she's OK now, though."

"Thanks."

An awkward, uncomfortable silence fell between them. Dally wasn't sure what was going to happen next, and after awhile, it seemed like nothing would happen at all. He was about to demand that Two-Bit get the hell out of Great Books so he could continue to be angry in peace, but he didn't. He couldn't. Two-Bit, for the first time since they were kids, beat him to the punch.

"Why'd ya do it, Dally?"

Dally furrowed his brow.

"Do what?"

"You know what I'm talkin' about. Don't play dumb. You ain't dumb."

Dally exhaled. It had been nearly four years, and they'd never spoken of it. In truth, they probably would have. But just days after Dally had gotten out of the cooler, he'd fallen into things with Lucy. He and Two-Bit never had a chance to perform their own postmortem. They'd just gone about their lives, wondering if the thing that hung over their heads would, one day, dissipate. Evidently, it hadn't.

"C'mon, man," Dally said. "Ya haven't figured it out after all these years?"

"No," Two-Bit said. "If I'm bein' honest, I haven't thought about it in a long time. But when I saw Violet, I started to remember."

"Remember I was the one who handed you your ass in the back alley behind Jay's, huh?"

"Yeah. And I ain't blamin' you. I'm sure I deserved it."

"You deserved my blade in your guts for what you did. That's what you deserved."

Two-Bit's heart nearly stopped beating. What had he done to make Dally want to _kill him_? What kind of mood must Dally have been in to want to kill one of his buddies? He was terrified he'd never find out. And if he never found out, who was to say he wouldn't pull the same shit on Lilly? He felt like the earth was going to give out beneath him, but he wouldn't leave before he could figure out at least one answer.

"Well," he said. "I don't know what happened. But, c'mon, Dally. I wanna know. Why did you do it? Why did you go to jail for me?"

Dally exhaled again. He swore he'd never tell anyone but Lucy. But even if he was angry with Two-Bit, he was still his buddy. And a buddy deserved the truth. He knew that from being married to Lucy.

"It was a long time ago," Dally said. "Your ma was workin' all the time, and Katie was still pretty young. I knew how much she needed you. V didn't need me. Nobody needed me. Figured it was better if I sat away for ninety days than you. Nobody would have been lookin' for me."

Two-Bit didn't even know what to say. It was hard for him to think of a time when there weren't plenty of people who would have missed Dally terribly if he was gone. There was one there in the room, sitting on his lap, smiling up at him like he hung the moon in the sky. He could tell by the look in Dally's eye that it wasn't bullshit. He'd really taken the fall for Two-Bit … for Katie. He'd given up nearly three months of his life so that his buddy could take care of his kid sister, whom he (at the time) barely even knew. That wasn't even the Dally they came to know after he married Lucy. That was Dally before. Seventeen-year-old Dally knew how to be selfless enough to give up his freedom so that a young girl might feel safer at home. It just about rocked Two-Bit's world. It certainly rendered him speechless. He knew he should say _thank you_ or something vaguely like it, but he couldn't force his mouth to make a sound. He was in too much shock. Dally had been able to separate the scumbag who fondled his sister (and maybe worse) from the brother who provided for his kid sister. How had no one seen it before? Dallas Winston with Lucy Bennet wasn't a different person. She simply reminded him of what was already there and what was already good.

Two-Bit almost crafted a response, but Dally, as always, beat him to the punch.

"You're welcome."

That was enough for then. It had to be. Dally had to put Elenore down for her nap, and Two-Bit felt like he was going to be sick.

* * *

_February 14, 1969_

_Dear Jane,_

_ Happy Valentines Day my love. I love you more then I ever loved anybody. You never forget it either. Jane I cant wait to get home. I cant wait to get married to you. I aint even sure Ill be able to wait an hour. The minute I get back home and see your pretty face Im gonna get down on one knee. Im gonna ask Jane Randle to marry me and by the end of the day shell be Jane Curtis. Got a nice ring to it dont ya think? Speaking of a ring I got one for ya. When I get home youll see it. I hope you love it as much as I do._

_ Jane I am so happy you didnt stop loving me after the letter I sent you the other week. The one about what really goes on here. I knew youd still love me but I was afraid you would tell me you couldnt be my girl anymore or something. Im glad you proved me wrong on that one. I love you more then anything in the whole world and Id have hated to lose you just for being honest. I told Steve he should be honest with you too. I dont know if he took me up on that but I hope he did. Your his sister and he should be able to count on you. Make sure your making yourself look open to him. You know Steve as well as I do and you know it can be a real challenge to get him to open up. You might have to do a little bit yourself. Might seem a little tough but I think hell thank us both for it. He aint doing so well Jane. I can read it in his letters. I wish I could be there for him but I dont even really know what hes like anymore. I just know he aint the same Steve who shipped out a long time ago. Hes different cause of what he's seen over here._

_ You know Im gonna be different too? Dont you? Nothing will change how much I love you and how much I cant wait to be your husband. I cant wait to be the daddy to your beautiful little babies. Nothing changes that. But Jane I gotta admit. I already see the world different then I used to before they made me leave. You read my other letters. Things are darker and I dont like them. Even when I close my eyes the picture gets darker and I aint talking about feeling blind. Even my dreams have this gray about them now. It scares the hell outta me but its true and its there. You know Pony used to leave his diary wide open for all of us to read? I cant help but think he did it on purpose a little bit. Well when he was a kid he wrote that I was his happy-go-lucky middle brother. And maybe I was. Now that I been here almost a whole damn year … not a single one of my thoughts can remember. I dont know what Im like anymore. I dont know what Im gonna be when I get home. I aint asking anything from you. I just want you to know. And I want me and you to figure it all out together. You aint just a girl to me Janie. Your Jane. I hope you know what that means._

* * *

Jane Randle clasped the rest of Sodapop Curtis's letter to her chest. It was almost like he was there, sighing against her like he used to before he was made to leave her (to leave everyone). It was Valentine's Day, and Jane had no choice but to pretend.

She knew Soda would be different when he returned home from Vietnam. Steve was different – angrier and more violent, more like what everyone used to think Dally was. Two-Bit was different – quieter and more prone to public drunkenness. She didn't see Soda turning into either one of those men. Steve and Two-Bit's turns were amplified versions of personality traits they already has, as far as Jane could tell. What would Soda be like? What personality trait of his would he learn to turn up a few notches in order to cope with all the things he'd seen and done and kept secret from nearly everyone except Darry and Jane?

Jane shook her head and decided not to think about it. It was all borrowed trouble. There were still two more months until she would see Soda again, and then, she could think about what to do with him. They could think about how to move forward together. After all, it was what he said he wanted.

She clasped the letter even tighter and fell down backward on her bed. Only one thought coursed through her mind. She'd had it before, of course. But that Valentine's Day, despite the fact that she was all alone in the bedroom she once used for refuge when her folks were fighting yet again (and as they did that night as well), Jane had the thoughts louder than ever before.

_He's going to marry me_.

* * *

The night of Valentine's Day in 1969 was an interesting one for Lucy Bennet. It was Friday night, and while she normally used Friday night as an excuse to crash early after an exhausting week of schoolwork and parenting, she felt wide awake. She sat on the couch, taking notes in her well-worn copy of _Jane Eyre_, preparing herself for a final paper in one of her father's courses at TU. Dally was in the other room, trying to get Elenore to fall asleep. There was a love song playing softly on the radio.

"_You see, this guy / this guy's in love with you …_"

Lucy smiled a little at the song on the radio. It was one from a little earlier, and she'd always been partial to it. Her father said it had something to do with the trumpet. It felt just out of place enough in a romantic song to make it memorable without sounding absurd. Lucy had to chuckle at that one. It described her marriage perfectly, she thought. At least, it described what she used to believe about her marriage.

Things with Dally had been (technically) better since the day she kissed him on his way out the door for work. They'd teamed up to take care of Elenore's double ear infection. As they slept on either side of their little girl for the two days she was at her sickest, taking turns kissing her sweet little face, it felt like no time had lapsed between them. They hadn't done much talking with one another, but they weren't standing in each other's way, either. When Lucy mentioned it to her mother, her mother seemed to think it was a good sign. Though Lucy almost never asked her mother for advice about anything (much less advice about marriage, as Lucy was quite sure her mother wasn't truly in love with her father), she was smart enough to go to her when she wanted a specific answer. Mrs. Bennet always wanted marriage to work out – even if it was her daughter's marriage to the most notorious and dangerous hoodlum in all of Tulsa.

It had been months since Lucy and Dally had had sex, and it was about driving Lucy up a wall. She was dreaming about him nearly every night, but when she woke up to find him still lying beside her, she figured there wasn't any use in opening up the dialogue. Dally had never had any trouble opening up a sexual dialogue between the two of them before. If he wanted to ask her about having sex again, he would. It wasn't Lucy's place to pressure him. She couldn't – not after she'd spent months upon months distancing herself from him. To all of a sudden want to be intimate with him again? It made her sound like a hooker, not a sincere wife attempting to reconnect with her bizarrely estranged husband, whom she never stopped absolutely adoring.

She knew she sounded like the patriarchy's mouthpiece. Sincere wives could want to have plenty of good sex. In fact, Lucy had always believed all of those concepts went together. But she worried Dally would read her gesture of love and forgiveness incorrectly and want even less to do with her than he already did. So, she always pretended to be asleep and waited for the feelings to pass. Evidently, they never did – not all the way, that was.

While Lucy took notes in her book, Dally finished up putting Elenore to bed. He was quiet enough so that Lucy didn't recognize that he'd entered the room. For as long as he could, Dally decided he would take advantage of Lucy's blissful unawareness. She was just too beautiful to watch when she was really engrossed in something. Dally found himself hoping, all of a sudden, that when Elenore grew up, she would grow up to be as focused, dedicated, and passionate as Lucy – as his wife. There was something so special about Lucy Bennet that he prayed it was passed to Elenore, too. That would make her an even cooler girl than she already was.

Finally, Dally decided to speak up.

"Hey, Bennet," he said.

Lucy jumped, letting her pen fly out of her hand and across the room. Dally glided over to the plot where Lucy had launched her pen and handed it back like it was no inconvenience. Maybe it wasn't. Lucy didn't care as long as it meant Dally wanted something to do with her after all these months of distance, avoidance, and awkwardness.

"Hey," Dally said as he sat down next to Lucy.

"Hello," Lucy said. "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothin'. I'm just talkin' to my wife. Is that so wrong?"

"It is when you spent months upon months making her feel like a monster for one mistake. I missed Elenore's bedtime _once_. I'm never going to miss it again."

Dally felt his heart clench. Lucy was a smart woman – smarter than anyone he'd ever known, including himself and Violet, and that was saying something, he thought. This wasn't about when she missed Elenore's bedtime. Somewhere, she must have known that. But Dally didn't have the energy to bring it up. He was much more concerned with finally getting his wife back – all the way back – that he didn't dare cross a threshold that could lead to another fight.

"Hey, I'm sorry about that," Dally said. "I was wrong."

Lucy probably should have apologized, too. She simply couldn't bring herself to do it. She wasn't yet ready. Part of her knew she was in the wrong for keeping her husband in the dark. The other part was still worried about what would happen if she fell right back into the fold.

But with the way Dally was looking at her … like she mattered to him because she was _Lucy_, not because she was just his wife … would it really be so bad?

"I wanted to ask you somethin' actually," Dally said.

Lucy shrugged.

"Ask away."

"So, in between all of this shit between you and me …" Dally said. "I was just wondering. Have I ever really asked you how you're really doin'? Ya know, in the middle of what's been goin' on with me and you."

Lucy wrinkled her nose. That was a surprise. She suddenly sat up and reached for her husband's hands, which he willingly gave to her.

"No," she said. Her voice was softer and sweeter than it had been in what felt like years. "No, I don't think you have. I mean, you've …"

"Pushed ya into talkin' to me, but I ain't ever asked you a question about it," Dally said. He almost laughed out of self-deprecation, but he wasn't quite a guy who did things like that – not quite.

"Questions make a lot of difference. You know that?"

"Guess I do now. You mad at me?"

Lucy shook her head. In all these months of her feeling strange and empty, she'd never been angry at Dally. She'd been angry with herself for falling into the exact trap she and her parents always hoped she would avoid. She'd been angry with herself for _loving _her life when it felt like there was so much she could no longer do or accomplish because of it. But she'd never felt resentful toward Dally. She'd never blamed him for the way she felt about her life – _their _life. He had been nothing short of admirable. _Gallant_, Johnny would have said. Lucy had always liked that.

"Oh," Dally said. He hoped he didn't sound too relieved, since that wasn't cool. "Well, uh, that's good. I guess."

"You've never done anything wrong," Lucy said. "Well, you've done a lot of things wrong. Really, really wrong, as a matter of fact."

"But I didn't bust the school windows back in '65! That was Two-Bit!"

Lucy narrowed her eyes at Dally. She wasn't sure what made him think this was an appropriate time to bring up 1965, but she didn't think it would be very productive of her to ask. Dally always had his reasons, even if Lucy didn't discover them until much later.

"Yes," Lucy said. "I know that. I've known that a long time. It's part of why I married you, remember?"

Dally made no reply, but he remembered it well.

"You've never done anything wrong with Elenore or me," Lucy said. "That's one of the many things you're good at."

If Dally were only half as tough as he really was, he would have blushed.

"So," he said. He was almost nervous for whatever was coming next. "Can I ask you what's wrong? For real? What's been goin' on?"

Lucy wasn't ready to tell him just yet. But when she saw the look of earnestness and … _romance _… in her husband's eyes, she knew she was ready for something.

Without much warning at all, Lucy climbed into Dally's lap and wrapped her arms around him. He looked up at her to ask her what she was doing, as the gesture was almost foreign by February of 1969. But he didn't have time. Before he knew it, Lucy's lips were all over his, and she felt like coming home.

After one kiss, Lucy opened her eyes and stared down at Dally, who was almost smiling at her. She couldn't help but break out into the biggest grin she'd cracked in months. Dallas Winston might have been cooler than cool, but that didn't mean Lucy Bennet needed to be.

"What're you doin', Bennet?" Dally asked, though it was clear in his tone that this was no protest.

"I'm opening up a dialogue," Lucy said and kissed him quickly. "Are you interested?"

"Oh, I'm real fuckin' interested," Dally said.

He pulled her closer to him and kissed her again. He kissed her until she was flat on her back, and they'd shucked every stitch of winter clothes they wore that night. But in that split second where passion and logic blended, Lucy and Dally stopped. They shared a look, and they both knew exactly what it meant.

The radio still played softly in the background. The song was tawdry, but Lucy didn't care. This was Dally, and they were opening up the dialogue. They wouldn't need to pay much attention to the soundtrack.

"_I feel your touch / your warm embrace / and I'm in heaven again …_"

Lucy nearly snorted with amusement, though it would have absolutely murdered their mood. The radio didn't even know the half of it. Had it really been since December? Lucy almost didn't remember. In this moment, not a moment before it had ever mattered.

"You wanna…?" Dally asked.

"Yeah," Lucy said. "Help me up."

Dally held out his hand, and Lucy took it. She moved around and ended back up in her husband's lap. It was the only way to really open up the dialogue, after all.

* * *

**And that's chapter thirteen! I thought it would have been cool to have it up on Friday the 13, but sometimes, things get in the way. Just two more chapters left in this one. I feel like I've been working on it for ages, but it's only been just over four months since I published the first chapter. As many of you know, it's been a pretty busy four months.**

**This chapter turned out much differently than I intended. For one thing, it was supposed to include some fight between Steve and Jane. For another, that confrontation between Two-Bit and Dally was never supposed to happen at all. And for that matter, Two-Bit wasn't supposed to be such an important figure in this fic. My recent emphasis on the character (and the way I'm writing him) comes from a really personal place. I finally came up with a model for Two-Bit (and his relationship with Lilly), and it breaks my heart because I've lived through something very much like it. But it's an important story, and I am in the business of telling important stories.**

**Hinton owns **_**The Outsiders**_**. "Just Once In My Life" is famously recorded by The Righteous Brothers, but it was written by Carole King. "This Guy's in Love with You" is by Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass. "You Are My Special Angel" is a popular song from the 1950s, but Lucy and Dally would have heard the recording by The Vogues in 1968. I, of course, own none of these songs. And "The Second Coming" is a famous poem by William Butler Yeats, which I also don't own. I do own a copy of an anthology where that poem is printed, however. **


	14. Chapter 14

In March 1969, Lucy Bennet was writing a term paper on _Jane Eyre_. It was for her father's class on the Brontë sisters, and even though her father knew she was an excellent writer and critical reader, she still wanted to turn in her best work. When she told Dally she was going to spend a few hours in the library really focusing on the work in front of her, he gave her a kiss and wished her good luck. Lucy promised she would be home by Elenore's bedtime.

Things between Lucy and Dally had been almost great since Valentine's Day, a month prior. She still hadn't quite answered the question of what was wrong with her and why she didn't feel quite like herself, but she was warming to the possibility of finally answering the question. In truth, Lucy was afraid that if she were entirely honest with Dally, then he would become angry and try to leave her. Maybe that was an overreaction. Dally could become livid, but it was never really because of Lucy. It didn't change the fact that it was a fear.

As she wrote her paper in the library that afternoon, she tried not to think about it. All that mattered for the next few hours was Lucy's mind and the things it could say about Bertha Mason. She thought about Bertha Mason for a long time and decided she felt like almost a kindred spirit with her. Part of Lucy was expected to be Jane Eyre, she always figured. She was supposed to be Coventry Patmore's angel in the house, busying herself with domestic duties and making sure that she was a pretty and agreeable wife, even for the notorious greaser to whom she pledged the thick and thin of her life. She figured that was what even Dally must have wanted. He'd been a child of the 1950s, after all. He might not have had a June Cleaver or Donna Reed mother to call his own, but he owned a television set. He saw what life was _supposed to _look like. Was that not what he wanted, as a child who grew up with virtually nothing? Was that not why he'd gone after Cherry Valance that night before his last trip to jail? Cherry Valance could have been Donna Reed if she'd made the decisions Bob Sheldon . would have wanted her to make. Lucy, on the other hand, was plainly incapable.

In a way, she felt foolish. How could she have ever expected to play a wife and a mother when she was such a monstrous woman? Lucy was arrested for aggravated assault when she was thirteen years old, and her interest in reading wasn't about leisure or education – not all the way. She read all the time to keep from beating the piss out of people who made her angry. That wasn't the kind of woman who got married, even if she _did _marry Dallas Winston, the only man she'd ever met whose violent streak even matched hers. Lucy was a monster. She was harsh and brash and cold. There were times when she could turn it off, but that didn't change the way she could, sometimes, feel. Lucy was no Jane Eyre. She was Bertha Mason, and sometimes, she wondered if she should just stay locked up in the attic, free to become a lunatic all her own.

And then, it occurred to her. For as angry and as violent as she could be – for all the rage and passion she so often felt in her late-October blood – she knew how to be tender. She knew how to be kind. She had held her friends when they cried, and she stayed up late with Elenore, whispering comforting things to her, making sure that she was nothing but well. Lucy was, in equal ways, a good woman and a bad woman. She was a _person_. Was there nothing more freeing than being a _person_?

With that, Lucy began to write. She began to reread and underline. She made brand new notes in her margins, even though her copy of _Jane Eyre _was messy with notes in the first place. Eventually, she scrapped the paper topic she had been working on and chose to write something new. This would do more than simply impress her father. This paper would change the way Lucy looked at herself.

She wrote and wrote until her eyelids became heavy. She looked around at her papers, but after hours of researching and writing, they became a blur. Before she knew it, Lucy was facedown on the desk before her, out like a light.

As she slept, she dreamt of Elenore. Lucy wasn't certain what Elenore was saying or what, precisely, what she was doing there. All she knew was that it made her heart full to hear Elenore's voice and see her shiny eyes. Elenore made it all worth it.

Before she knew it, someone was poking her in the arm with the eraser end of a pencil. Lucy jolted awake, a piece of paper with notes about Bertha Mason stuck to her cheek. She'd been drooling all over the library desk. It was very attractive. A girl she didn't recognize stood over her with a pinched, rude expression.

"You better pack up and get out," the girl said. "The library is closing for the night, and I'm not sticking around much longer."

Lucy's heart raced. She didn't know where to begin, but as she tried, she realized she was out of breath. This couldn't be.

"What?" she finally gasped. "Library? Closing?"

"Yeah. What's the matter with you? Are you high?"

"I'm not high. I'm just … how is the library closing? What time is it?"

"It's five minutes past midnight. I was supposed to close up five whole minutes ago, but you refused to wake up until I finally tried this pencil thing. We're the last two souls in this whole building. Now, can you please get up so that I can go home? I have a chemistry exam in what is _officially _less than twelve hours, and I don't feel like failing it because some girl wouldn't get up and leave the damn library!"

Without giving herself any room to process, Lucy got up from her chair. Her legs weren't working very well on account of her long sleep in the library. She packed up her things and awkwardly toddled out of the library, hearing the girl from the circulation desk click her tongue shamefully behind her. What the girl didn't know was that she had every right to shame Lucy. It was past midnight. Lucy had been asleep at the library for _six hours_. It made sense that she would be that exhausted. The night before, Elenore had a stomachache. Lucy didn't want to wake Dally, so she dealt with Elenore's upset stomach all by herself for hours. She'd only gotten about forty-five minutes of sleep in the end. But she thought that would be the end of it. She thought she would decide not to let Elenore have a scoop of ice cream past two in the afternoon, work on her paper, get home in time to put her to bed again, and move on. This was not the night she was having. She was five hours late for Elenore's bedtime. And if Dally had held it so high over her head the first time, she could only imagine how he would react the second time. He'd never understand. He'd never understand how exhausting it was to be a good mother and a good student all at the same time. He was a good father, but that wasn't the same role. Being a mother was harder. It wasn't fair, but it was true. Lucy had always known that. And even though it was well worth it if it meant she got to be with her sweet Elenore, it didn't mean she wasn't exhausted. It didn't mean she wasn't constantly afraid of making mistakes like this one.

What would Dally say? What would _Elenore _say?

On her way back to the apartment, Lucy tried to think of some excuse to give to her husband and her daughter. In the end, there wasn't one. She didn't want to say that she'd been caught in something violent, as that would have given Dally an excuse to lash out violently like he'd been itching to do for a long time already. She didn't want to say that she'd lost track of time because that sounded irresponsible and selfish (which Lucy was, and she knew it now). She didn't want to tell the truth and say that she'd fallen asleep while she was working on her term paper because that sounded _even more_ irresponsible and selfish. Lucy wasn't supposed to need this much sleep. She was supposed to sacrifice her needs for her daughter's, like she'd tried the night before. Why couldn't she manage it two nights in a row? And why did it have to be the same mistake all over again?

She wanted to burst into tears, but she couldn't. This was too serious. This was too frightening for her. Lucy was in so much pain that she was becoming numb.

When she got up to the apartment and walked through the front door, she was amazed by just how quiet it was in there. Elenore had clearly soothed herself to sleep just fine. There was no whimpering from the baby's room. But then, of course, there was Dally.

He was fast asleep in the bed he and Lucy shared. Instead of sprawling out across the bed, which Lucy often did when he was away, he remained curled up on his own side, almost as though he was waiting for Lucy to sneak in and take her usual place. There was a strange look of peace on his face. For a moment, Lucy was confused, but then she had a thought. Maybe Dally was dreaming about how much better it would be in the morning when he found Lucy there – not because she was there, but so that he could finally tell her that he wanted a divorce. The thought made Lucy's heart clench. Even if it sounded unrealistic, she decided she didn't want to take the risk. She decided she didn't want to curl up in bed next to Dally after all because she didn't want to stick around for the fallout. A war was still waging in Lucy Bennet's twisted imagination, and she didn't want Dallas Winston to defeat her. So, she decided he wouldn't. She wouldn't allow it. She would surrender before he could put a knife in her heart.

Lucy feverishly dug into her bag for a piece of paper and a pen. She scribbled the note she'd been trying for months to avoid. But it didn't matter. It was time now. The time, she thought, must have been inevitable. Nothing good was made to last when Lucy Bennet was involved. She was a monstrous woman.

She finished scribbling the note, left it on Dally's bedside table so that he would see it as soon as he woke up that morning, and she quietly snuck back downstairs and out the door. The only good thing was that she knew where she was going.

* * *

_March 7, 1969_

_Dear Dally,_

_ Its always real good to here from you man. And its good to here you and Lucy are doing better. You let her climb on top of you huh? Pretty big coming from you. I know you said you wanted to here about me but I aint gonna. Truth is I hate writing it. Writing it makes me think about it and I just wanna turn it off. I gotta live in it all the time. These letters are my only way of escaping without breaking the law about it. I aint like you (or like the way you used to be before me and Sadie dared you and Lucy get married). I cant just break any old law. Some laws are worth keeping. As much as being here still scares the shit out of me this is a law worth keeping. I hope you can understand. I know you can. You always been smarter then the rest of us. Even Ponyboy. But dont tell him I said that. He'll blow a damn gasket._

_ I wanted to write to you about you and Lucy. I know thats not a surprise. Feels like that's all me and you ever talk about. But theres a good reason for that. I know you and Lucy are meant to be. Ive known it ever since we was all much younger kids. She gets you in a way none of us ever have no matter how much we try. Belive me we try. Mostly Johnny but you knew that already. Kid's got a kid on the way and he still worships the ground you walk on. Gotta call that something even if I dont know what to call it. Anyway I know you and Lucy are right for each other. I always tried to push you together cause I knew you would be happier together then you would be if you were apart. As much as she gets you better then everybody else does I know you get her better then the rest of us do too. You always seemed to get her even better then my sister does. Theres something about the 2 of you guys that matches up. So even if you feel like you aint been seeing eye to eye you gotta give her some time. Be pashent with her. I know sometimes she seems like she cant be moved in one direction or another but she can. She just has to be the one to move herself. And she always moves toward you. Shes moved toward you since the day you met even if she didnt know it. So if it seems like shes moving away from you just give her a minute. She will always come back to you. Always, always, always. There aint nothing in the world Lucy would like more then to stay with you. Even when you drive her up the wall. She would pick you in the middle of a rainstorm when she could barely see in front of her. I cant tell you how I know that exactly but I think you can guess. Lucy is as close to me as my own sister after all. I know things that you aint always privy to hearing about._

_ I feel almost like Im writing this letter to you on a time crunch. I know you aint never really gonna give up on Lucy. You wrote me so in your last letter but you didnt even need to. I know youd never think twice about leaving your wife and your little girl. Even on the day Elenore was born and I caught you in front of the hosiptal. You wouldnt of gone anywhere. You might have gone back to the apartment above the bookstore for an hour or two and pretended to back a bag but you would of come back. Im glad I was there to give you somebody to talk to but I knew I wasnt stopping you. Not for a second. You do the wrong thing a lot of the time Dally. You know you do. But you aint never really done the wrong thing when it comes to your family. Im talking about your girls but Im also talking about us. You always looked after Johnny almost like he was your own son. You never looked at Pony like he was a tagalong kid even when Two-Bit and Steve made it clear they saw him that way till he was older. And you took the fall for Two-Bit beacause you knew his kid sister would of been all alone in the world if he got sent to the cooler. Your a family man at your core. You gotta forgive yourself for leaving your sister behind. You were 10 years old. Anybody could of done that. I know that aint about Lucy but I know a lot of your worrys about her and Elenore come from what happened with Violet when you were a kid. You gotta realize something Dally. You aint 10 years old anymore. Your a real man whose lived a real life. You know how to put other people's needs before your own these days. You aint the kinda guy who leaves when things get hard. And that makes you more then enough for Lucy. I know thats another thing your afraid of. Your enough for Lucy. I promise._

_ But I cant explain it man. It feels like Im running out of time. Like I wont be able to get this to you before something bad happens. I aint the kind of guy who can almost predict the future. Thats more of Pony's thing. He wrote that in his journal too – on the night you saved him and Johnny's skins from Bob Sheldon and those other guys who could of killed them. He can sense when something bads gonna happen. I can sense other stuff but not the future. And right now … I aint sure what I'm sensing Dally but I know it has to do with you. Lucy aint gonna leave you so dont go worrying thats what it is. No its different. Its like if I dont get you this letter in time your gonna misunderstand something that happens between the 2 of you. I cant explain it. I just feel it. You ever get like that sometimes? I dont know why I asked. It aint like your gonna tell me (probably. Sometimes you suprise me.)._

_ I hope this gets to you before whatever it is. Let me know if I was right. I wanna see how it ends. – Sodapop Curtis_

* * *

_Dally,_

_ I know. I know, I know, I know, and I KNOW. I know. There isn't much more I can say apart from that. I fucked up. I'm always fucking up these days, aren't I? I'm always so focused on myself that I can't see the forest for the trees. I can't see you or Elenore. It's like every surface I look into is a mirror, and I'm trapped. It's like there's no way out. You don't deserve someone as shitty as I am. Elenore sure as hell doesn't deserve someone as shitty as I am. She's so lucky she has you. I bet you never thought anybody would say that, did you? A little baby is lucky that Dallas Winston is her father. I bet you never thought you'd see the day. Well, come to think of it, I did. I did see the day. And as much as I'm glad it's here, I know I can't be part of it anymore. I tried, and I failed. I tried, and I failed. I tried, and I missed Elenore's bedtime after I fucking promised her I'd be there. I've failed. And after you fail at something three times, I figure it's best to throw in the towel. I never did learn how to ride a bike, you know?_

_ There's so much I want to tell you, but we never got to the place where we could. Maybe we did, but you never said anything. And I followed your lead like I was Donna, and you were Alex. I was never built to be a wife. I was never built to be a mother. A girl who finds herself in cuffs at age thirteen is not the mothering type. Elenore deserves better than the mother she got. You know she does. You maybe even know it better than anyone._

_ I'm going to my parents' house for awhile. If you want to drop by, you know where they live. If not … well, then I guess I don't know what happens next. And I guess I'm not too excited to find out. This is the last thing I wanted. You know? But it's what has to be. For you and for our daughter._

_All My Everything,_

_Lucy_

* * *

Dally tucked Lucy's letter into the pocket of his jeans. He was calmer than ever. Not one flash of anger rippled through him that morning as he lifted Elenore out of her crib. He wasn't angry at all. In a way, he'd been expecting Lucy to pull something like this. Maybe, a week earlier, he would have been hysterical. But it wasn't a week earlier. It was March 15, 1969, and he felt differently. Lucy always told him to beware the Ides of March. But in 1969, they gave him power. God only knew, but they gave him serenity.

"Hey, baby girl," Dally said. "How ya doin'?"

"Hi, Dad," Elenore said.

"Hi, baby. You look real good. You sleep good?"

Elenore nodded. She looked so much like Lucy when she nodded. Dally had never noticed it before. He grinned in spite of himself.

"Hey, we're gonna play a game," he said. "You like playin' games, don't ya?"

"Yes!"

"Good. We're gonna play a game where I help you get dressed, and then I take you to visit our good friend Darry. You like that game, don't ya?"

"I _love _Darry!"

Dally laughed – again, in spite of himself. Or was it his old self? Was there a difference? He didn't have time to ponder. He was on a mission.

"Yeah, I know you do," Dally said. "He loves you, too. And guess what?"

"What, Dad?"

"When I come and pick you up from Darry's house, Mommy will be with me. Don't that sound fun?"

"I _love _Mommy!"

"Yeah, kid. I know. Don't tell her or nothin', but I love her, too."

Elenore nodded as though she understood. It was true that Dally had never told Lucy he loved her, and Lucy never told Dally she loved him. They hadn't needed to. Their love was obvious. They showed it in their every step and their every glance. The only reason Dally was brave enough to tell Elenore that he loved her mother was because Elenore was still a baby, and she would forget her father's words within the next hour. You could always count on a baby to keep your emotional vulnerabilities a secret, especially if you were renowned for not having any.

He lifted Elenore out of her crib and got her ready for the day. As he tied his daughter's hair back into a nice and neat ponytail, he smiled to himself.

It was a good thing Soda's letter had arrived in the mail the day before.

* * *

Lucy had never gotten rid of the key to her parents' house. On that late night when she decided to leave Dally and Elenore for the greater good, the key came in handy. She let herself into the home where she'd been a teenager and tried not to think about her burgeoning crush on Dallas Winston. She fell asleep in the bed they shared before Dally found her the apartment above Great Books. It was a good thing she was going to leave. That apartment was getting too small.

She woke before her mother and made a few strips of bacon for breakfast. Dr. Bennet was already in his office, preparing for the day's lectures. Mrs. Bennet rarely woke before eight in the morning. Lucy used to be the same way, but ever since she'd had a small child, she was conditioned to wake up at 5:30 in the morning. She supposed she didn't have to worry about that anymore. For as much as she loved her daughter, she was quite sure she didn't deserve to be her mother.

On that morning – a rare morning, as it turned out – Mrs. Bennet woke at six. She heard the sound of crackling bacon from her room, and she figured she would investigate. Just as she'd strangely suspected, there was her one and only beautiful daughter, sitting at the table, picking at three strips of bacon on a plate. Even though she knew something must be wrong, Mrs. Bennet couldn't help but smile. It was always such a treat to see her little girl.

"Lucy?" she asked.

Lucy looked up from the bacon and waved nonchalantly.

"Hi, Mom," she said. "I didn't think you'd wake up this early."

"Well, normally, I wouldn't."

Mrs. Bennet took a seat at the table, directly across from Lucy.

"But when you live in a house this tiny, you don't exactly sleep through the sound of frying bacon in the next room," she said.

"It's not the _next _room. There's a whole bathroom in between the kitchen and your bedroom. You know that."

"You're always Miss Sarcastic, aren't you?"

"It's a gift."

"Well, I had to investigate the noise. You could have been an intruder, you know. A burglar. Sent to burgle all my favorite things."

"Yes. I've heard it's becoming increasingly common for intruders to fry up a pan of bacon before stealing the real valuables in the house."

"What did I say about being sarcastic?"

"You actually didn't say anything. You made an observation, but that's not the same as a warning or a criticism."

"Lucy."

"What? That's not sarcastic. It's literal."

Mrs. Bennet had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing. Of course, maybe now that Lucy was twenty-one years old (and a wife and a mother herself), Mrs. Bennet could afford to laugh at Lucy's little quips every now and then. When she was growing up, Mrs. Bennet always found her daughter to be wickedly smart and terribly clever, and as badly as she wanted to laugh at her way of talking, she wasn't sure if that was very responsible (as her mother). She didn't want to encourage Lucy to behave badly. Then again, Lucy _had _been arrested for aggravated assault by the age of thirteen, so perhaps it wouldn't have hurt to indulge a few of her one-liners. Mrs. Bennet was a mother in the most difficult age to be a mother, especially the mother of a little girl. Lucy had no idea how fortunate she was to have Elenore in the late 1960s – on the cusp of a true Sexual Revolution. She wouldn't have to walk the fine line between being a lady and being a person. There was so much Mrs. Bennet would have told Lucy if only she'd felt like she was allowed to speak freely.

"Lucy," Mrs. Bennet said again. "What are you doing here?"

Lucy sighed.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You're at your parents' house early in the morning when you have your own home. Clearly, there's something to be said."

"Well, I don't want to talk about it. Do you know when Dad's going to be home?"

Mrs. Bennet felt her tongue curl underneath her teeth. She should have been expecting that. That was always how Lucy felt. In part, Mrs. Bennet feared she might have been the one to cultivate it.

"Not for awhile," Mrs. Bennet said. "He teaches three classes today. One of those, as I understand it, is a class you're in."

Lucy nodded.

"It's at eleven," she said. "I'll be there. Don't worry."

"I figured you'd be there. You always prioritize your education. My question is still the same. Why are you _here_? How long have you been here?"

Lucy sighed. Her mother was the last person she wanted to reach out to (usually the last person she _ever _wanted to reach out to, even if she did love her by proxy), but she was the only one around. Maybe it was worth telling her a few things. After all, her father would immediately tell her mother everything once she was finished telling him about her new situation, anyway. Maybe it was a good idea to cut out the middleman and be straight with her mother for the first time in all her life.

"I've been here since a little before one this morning," Lucy said. "I came in after I fell asleep in the library, taking notes for and drafting my term paper for Dad's class."

"Were you so tired that you forgot where you really lived?"

Reluctantly, Lucy shook her head. She felt her breath hitch with anxiety, dread, and something else that she could not yet name (or did not yet wish to). She knew she had to speak, so she pushed through it, even though it was painful.

"No," Lucy said. "No, I went to my apartment first."

"And you left?" Mrs. Bennet asked. "What was the matter? Did you and Dally have a fight?"

"What makes you think we're fighting?"

"He didn't come to Thanksgiving. You haven't been together very often, even when you're in the same room. It doesn't take a genius to see that there's been something going on between the two of you."

What Mrs. Bennet _wanted _to say was that her husband hadn't figured out that there was something the matter with Lucy and Dally. Mrs. Bennet had to be the one to point it out to him. Even after all the years he spent writing and researching the marriage plot, he couldn't see one unfolding (but hopefully not unraveling) before his very eyes. She wanted Lucy to know that her father didn't know everything. But she didn't say a word. It was important that Lucy believed in Jack Bennet, so Mrs. Bennet would keep it that way.

Lucy turned white with shock. And she thought she'd been keeping the secret so safely guarded.

"We didn't fight," Lucy said. "We … we've been at odds, but we haven't really been fighting. As a matter of fact, all through February, it really seemed like he and I were on the up and up. But then last night, I fell asleep at the library after working on _my _term paper. Like a selfish bitch."

"Don't use that word," Mrs. Bennet said.

"Because it's profane?"

"Because it's cruel, and you directed it at _my daughter_."

Lucy squinted a bit. It was the first time in what felt like forever (and maybe it was) that Mrs. Bennet had defended her so clearly and so staunchly. No one was around to see it, but maybe that was what made it that much more profound and memorable for Lucy.

"Well," Lucy said. "I missed Elenore's bedtime. And Dally had been on my case about it for months. I knew it was wrong, but he never let it go. It became kind of like … I don't know, like a touchstone for us, or something. When I told him I was going to the library to work on my paper, I promised I would be home in time for Elenore to go to bed. But I wasn't. I fell asleep, as though my body and my sleep matters more than my own daughter's. What kind of mother does that? What kind of mother doesn't put her child first?"

Mrs. Bennet thought she might have an answer, but she figured it was better to keep it to herself.

"I went home as though I deserved to be there, or something," Lucy said. It was clear she wasn't talking to her mother anymore. She was reliving the trauma. "And then … I don't know. Before I know it, I'm scribbling this long letter to Dally about where I'm headed, and then I'm off."

Mrs. Bennet furrowed her brow in surprise.

"Off?" she repeated. "What in the world do you mean?"

"I left him, Mom," Lucy said. "I left Dally. And Elenore. I left them."

And if Mrs. Bennet didn't know her daughter half as well as she did (And she knew her daughter better than her daughter understood.), her heart would have clenched and broken right then and there. But that wasn't what happened. She knew that Lucy wouldn't leave Dally and Elenore – not really.

"Why in the world would you do something like that?" Mrs. Bennet asked. "You love them."

"I know," Lucy said. "I do. But look at me, Mom. I'm not built to be a wife or a mother. I'm Lucy Bennet! I've been arrested for aggravated assault, and not for just any reason. I defended a _political candidate_. I read and write and want to make a career out of it. I'm a career woman! I'm not the wife type. I'm not the mother type. As much as you might have wished that I could be, I'm not you."

And after years of politely nodding and cheering her daughter on from the sidelines, worrying that she would say the wrong thing and worrying that her daughter would earn the wrong reputation, Mrs. Bennet couldn't take it anymore.

"You're fucking kidding me," she said.

Lucy's heart jumped into her throat. She'd never heard her mother use profanity before – not even in the privacy of their home (wherever it was).

"Mom?" she asked.

"Do you know a thing about me, Lucy?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you know a thing about me?"

"I know you're my mother. Is that not all I need to know?"

"Of course it's not all you need to know. I was a whole person before I was your mother. I was a whole person before I was your father's wife. I'm still a whole person, though I feel the need to hide that person from you and your father. Most of the time, I understand the sacrifice. But there are times – more times than you'd ever know – that I hate it, and I want to be that whole person."

Lucy gulped. She'd never heard her mother take such a tone before. It wasn't that she was angry. She was firm. Usually, even when her mother was attempting to make a declaration, she peppered it with questions and qualifiers. That was not the case on that early morning in the Ides of March 1969. Mrs. Bennet spoke with purpose. She spoke with a plan.

"Do you know how I met your father?" Mrs. Bennet asked.

"I know you met when he was in college," Lucy said.

"Yes, technically, that's true. But what he and I have failed to mention is that we also met when _I _was in college."

Lucy's jaw nearly hit the table. Mrs. Bennet chuckled off her look.

"That's right," she said. "You think you know so much about every little thing, but you didn't know I held a college degree, did you?"

"No," Lucy squeaked. She felt pathetic. "I … I didn't."

Mrs. Bennet nodded. She was still firm. It was terribly impressive.

"I hold a Bachelor of Arts in English from Smith," Mrs. Bennet said. "I wrote my senior thesis on wit as feminine power in the former two Jane Austen novels. My major professor put me through to a boy at Yale who also studied Austen, and we bonded over Marianne and Brandon. I married him shortly after graduation, and shortly after that, we had you. And boy, was I ever happy to be a wife. Was I ever happy to be a mother – your mother, specifically."

Lucy was uncharacteristically moved. She had always loved her mother. That was a given. But she'd never felt _close _to her mother. She never felt like they had anything in common apart from an unflagging love for Lucy's father. It warmed Lucy's heart and nearly brought her to tears to discover she was wrong … to realize she had gone over twenty years and never asked her mother who she was before the day Lucy was born.

"You think you get your smarts from your father," Mrs. Bennet said. "And let me tell you something. You did. Your father is the smartest man I've ever known. But let me tell you something else. Before you were born, I was the smartest _woman _your father had ever known."

Lucy's heart shattered. She pictured her mother, age twenty-four, caring for an infant while her husband pursued his literary and academic dreams at Yale. She pictured how hard it must have been to watch him come home and grade papers and read from _Sense and Sensibility_. She wished she could travel backward in time and retrieve her mother from that horror. She wished she could tell her to pursue her own dreams. Lucy felt like she may burst into tears. After all these years, she had no idea her mother had passions. She had no idea her mother had dreams.

Was that what Elenore would think of her?

And what_ would _Elenore think of her, now that she was gone?

"I don't get it," Lucy said. "How come you never said anything?"

"I don't get it," Mrs. Bennet said. "How come you never asked?"

Lucy bowed her head. That, of course, was truer and stung much more.

"I never said anything because I thought that was what I was supposed to do," Mrs. Bennet said. "I thought that maybe, if I was the kind of wife my mother expected me to be … the kind of wife your father's mother wished I would be … then maybe they'd accept him back into the fold. Maybe we wouldn't feel so out on our own. Outsiders, in a way."

Lucy nodded. If she understood anything after living in Tulsa for the last six years, that was it.

"There was so much I wanted to tell you," Mrs. Bennet said. "But I didn't feel like I should. I was scared. There was so much going on outside our windows. And I don't just mean the violence and the recklessness in almost every town we've ever lived in. I mean … look around at so many families out there, Lucy. Mothers aren't people, and their kids … most of them turn out so nicely."

Lucy wanted to tell her mother about Randy Adderson, the trend-seeking wannabe poet who'd grown up in one of those nice families from _the other side of town. _She wanted to tell her mother about Cherry Valance, who was rich and spoiled like no other girl Lucy had ever met, who also wasn't interested in living a purely domestic life. Lucy wanted to tell her mother so much about the things she'd missed when she was locked up inside, trying to live out that impossible Victorian fantasy. She wondered if perhaps that was why her father decided to specialize in Victorian novels – to, in some capacity, avenge his wife, the literary scholar who never was and never could be. It was enough to make Lucy want to die.

"I didn't want to lead you down a path that would make you miserable," Mrs. Bennet said. "I felt like if I were honest with you, then maybe … then maybe you wouldn't find someone to take care of you like I did. I was scared that if you didn't learn how to be a good wife like I learned how to be a good wife, then you'd go hungry. I know that sounds ridiculous, Lucy, given where we're at in the world now … but surely, you must remember growing up in the 50s. Our neighbors wore dresses and high-heeled shoes just to stand around and clean their houses all day. _I _wore dresses and high-heeled shoes just to stand around and clean our house all day! I thought I was preparing you."

"But something changed," Lucy said. "You started to believe more in the idea that I had a future outside of getting married and having babies. You were horrified when I got married. You were horrified when I got pregnant. If that was what you really wanted from me … what you really thought I should have … you would have been happier the first time I brought Dally home."

Mrs. Bennet nodded.

"That was partially with the help of your father," Mrs. Bennet said. "He told me a story about you shortly after we first moved here. You were helping him gather the few items he took to his office at TU, and you found his diploma – the one from his Ph.D. He told me you looked at it, hugged it to your chest, and said, 'One day, I'm going to have a Ph.D. Just like you!'"

Lucy nodded. She realized how much she looked like her mother.

"I remember," Lucy said.

"Well, when he told me that you'd made up your mind about what you wanted to do with your life, and I looked around and saw that things were changing – slowly, yes, but surely – for girls out there. I realized you didn't have to do exactly what I did. You could do exactly what you wanted to do. You could do …"

"Exactly what _you _wanted to do."

"Yes. Exactly. You know, Lucy, you look at me, and you see Mom. You see the lady who stayed home with you and looked after you when you were sick. You see the lady who harped on you about learning the best table manners to impress the finest of guests. And I'm glad that's the person you see. I'm glad that I've had the chance to be your mother, and if I had to do it again, I wouldn't do a thing differently. I might ease up on the dresses a little …"

Lucy almost laughed. When she was a little girl, her mother insisted that she wear frilly and itchy dresses, much like the contraption she forced Elenore into that Thanksgiving – the Thanksgiving that tore the fabric of everything around them.

_Elenore_.

What would Dally have her wear now?

"But I loved being your mother," Mrs. Bennet said. "I still love being your mother. But that's not the point. The point is that before I was your mother, I was Esther Jones. I was a great student. I wanted to make something of myself and use my degree for more than just housework … for more than just finding a man who can tell me which Austen hero he thinks he is."

Lucy's eyes flickered to the ground. Something in that sentence made her incredibly sad. Off her look, Mrs. Bennet – _Esther Bennet _– knew exactly what she meant.

"That's not to say I don't love your father," she said. "You know I do. But, Lucy, when I think about all the things I could have done if I grew up when you did … if I became a wife and a mother when you did … it would have been so much easier to have it all. I wouldn't have needed to hide behind the dresses and the heels. I wouldn't have tried so hard to hide you behind them, too."

Lucy sniffed. She didn't want to cry. She didn't want anyone to perceive her as weak, especially not her mother, who had to have been the strongest woman in the world if she was ready to give up her life and her dreams for a husband and a child. It was 1969, and Lucy couldn't seem to figure out how to make it work herself. She didn't want her mother to think she was a slouch.

"I don't know what you're trying to tell me," Lucy said.

It was a lie. As it turned out, it was a lie that Esther Bennet was too smart to fall for. She thought back to an old play she read in college. A preacher and his wife took in a rebellious young woman called Lovely, and while the preacher gave the young woman hell for her risqué clothing because he wasn't strong enough to resist his lust, the wife laughed nervously like she didn't understand what was going on. Mrs. Bennet had been playing that role for far too long. She was done with it now. Lucy was old enough to know the truth, and now that she knew it, they could never go back.

"Yes, you do," Mrs. Bennet said.

Lucy sighed.

"You don't want to see me fall into the same trap you did," Lucy said. "You don't want me to think that I have to choose a professional career and being a good wife and a good mother. You know it's possible for me to be both. I just haven't figured it out yet. I'm just going through … whatever it is I'm going through."

"Your father would call it _ennui_."

"He thinks he's smart."

"Hmm. He's not as smart as I am. He knows it, too."

"And you kept it a secret from your own daughter for over twenty years?"

"Parents have their reasons, even if they're tenuous ones."

Lucy sighed again. It was going to take some getting used to – the idea that her mother was a person behind the overly maternal character she projected onto herself. In all, she decided she liked it, but it was nothing short of bizarre.

"I didn't raise you to be the kind of woman who gives up on the things she wants," Mrs. Bennet said. "I didn't raise you to be the kind of woman who thinks things are plainly impossible. Ever since you were born, all I wanted was to make sure you had a better, richer, and more rewarding life than I did. And you know what, Lucy?"

"What?"

"I was right. You're a scholar, a wife, and a mother. You're incredible! And I don't think you have to choose one of those things over the others. I don't think that's the way it works, even if other people say no. You know what's true for you. Just like I know what's true for me."

Lucy nodded. She knew what she wanted. She wanted to give her mother a kiss and a hug and thank her for all the sacrifices she'd put herself through in order for Lucy to have a better life than she would have decades earlier or under worse mothering. She wanted to march right back up to the apartment above Great Books – the apartment she had for so long called _home _– and tell Dally that the note she left him was a mistake. She didn't want to leave him. There was no way she ever could. She was always going to come back. Didn't he understand? Lucy was always going to come back to him. She was always going to come back to her family.

But she knew Dally. She knew him better than anyone. And once he set his mind to something, it was hard for him to let it go. If he already had it in his mind that Lucy was the villain, and he couldn't bare to be married to her for another minute, then it would be impossible to move him. It broke her heart, but she had to give herself a little credit. In the three years they had been married, Lucy Bennet had managed to intimately know Dallas Winston. That was something no one else in the world, including his own younger sister, could say.

Before Lucy could give some excuse about whether or not it was a good idea to try to find Dally before it was too late, Mrs. Bennet stood up from the kitchen table and walked over to the counter. She handed Lucy an envelope, and the envelope looked familiar.

"Here," she said. "This came for you yesterday. I don't know why he sent it to your parents' address, but I can imagine he feels a bit discombobulated."

"Who are you talking about?" Lucy asked.

"You know who I'm talking about," Mrs. Bennet said. "I didn't even open the letter, and there's not a question in my mind about who it might be from."

Mrs. Bennet handed to envelope to Lucy, and she smiled when she recognized the handwriting. She knew who it was from, too. And his was the voice Lucy so desperately needed to hear.

* * *

_March 7, 1969_

_Dear Lucy,_

_ Im so glad to here that you and Dally are doing better together. Im telling you. If me and Jane werent the best couple in the whole world you and Dally would be on top of the list. I dont know if I ever met 2 people more perfect for each other besides me and Jane. Your both so smart and so tough. You both think your selfish and mean but youd do anything for any of us. Your both real brave – braver then the rest of us. I know Dally feels a little like a coward for not fighting in the war. Tell him not to if you think about it. He aint a coward. He aint a coward just like I aint a hero. When his number came up he became a daddy. When my number came up I became a different number. It aint like ones noble and ones not. Its just that ones got dirty diapers and the others got dirty drawers. Barely different when you think about it. Huh? I dont know what Im going on about._

_ I hate to give you advice from all the way over here and especially since Im not in your marriage to Dally. But Im the one who dared you to marry him so I guess Im always going to feel like I got a say in what happens between you 2 (Haha). Im writing to Dally too you dont have to feel like Im calling you out all by yourself. I know your always worried about who looks tougher between you and Dally but Im here to tell you it dont matter. Not when it comes to being honest with him and making a place for you to get better together. Lucy if you feel empty or not connected to where your at you cant just expect Dally to ask you questions about it. I know how that sounds but you know your husband. Its not that he aint kind in his own way. Me and you both know he can be kinder then all of us sometimes, even me and my siblings. What I mean is that you know he thinks hes too cool to ask questions and to show like he might care about something. And I know he cares about you. He may not care about much in the world but he cares so much about you and your baby. You mean everything to him. He just aint gonna tell you that for fear youll think hes not tough all of a sudden. And thats his problem. I just dont think theres much you can do about it since I feel like … I dont know, Lucy. I feel like somethings gonna happen or like Im running out of time. I cant explain it but I need these letters to go about before you or Dally does something stupid that youll be sure too regret. I hope I aint right. I hope when I get home you 2 are better then ever. But just in case my feelings right._

_ Lucy you gotta tell Dally whats been going on with you. I cant break his trust or nothing but I know hes going out of his damn mind not knowing. The 2 of you have always been so aware of each other. And now that your on different places of thought he feels like hes gonna lose you. I know he aint. You know he aint. But he feels like hes gonna lose you. You gotta meet him in the middle. You gotta put his mind at ease before he loses it for real. Ive seen Dally when he loses it and it aint pretty. It looks a lot like bailing him out of jail for doing something petty and stupid. I aint trying to tell you what to do and I know you hate it when people do. Your Lucy and being Lucy means making your own choices. I know that. But I wish youd meet your husband in the middle. I wish youd be open with him. He can handle it. Hes ready to handle it. Do you belive him? Do you belive me?_

_ I love you Lucy. Your as close to me as my own kind of sister and I only ever wanted you to be happy. If your being happy is with Dally then meet him in the middle and tell him whats been going on these past few months. Dont keep him guessing beacause that aint fair. Tell him. And if your being happy is without Dally … well I aint sure I even need to finish that thought. Me and you both know that a life where Lucy Bennet and Dallas Winston aint together is a life none of us really want. I love you Lucy. I cant wait to come home and see you and your baby and your husband. I know youll be together when I get home. I know youll work something out. Your Lucy and you always do. – Sodapop Curtis_

* * *

Lucy tucked the letter from Soda into her bra, keeping it close to her heart for safekeeping. It was the first time in a long time that she felt like Sodapop Curtis was the brother she never had. When Lucy was a little girl, she once asked her mother why she never had a brother or a sister. Her mother gave some answer, though Lucy was little, and she could no longer remember it. She thought again about asking, but it didn't seem right. Everything about it, actually, seemed wrong.

She wished the letter from Soda had come a day earlier. Maybe, if she'd been around to receive the letter, she wouldn't have walked out on Dally and Elenore. Maybe, if she'd been around to receive the letter, it wouldn't be too late to get her favorite people back.

But then the door swung open.

Lucy's heart jumped, and she looked around, though she could not see anyone from where she sat. Before long, she heard her mother's voice from the family room.

"There you are," she said. "I was hoping you'd kept your key."

"Yeah, guess it came in handy, huh?"

Lucy's heart jumped even higher.

_Dally_.

"I didn't know if you'd be willing to let me in," Dally said. "You know, takin' into consideration your daughter's tryin' to leave me, and I ain't nothing but a no-count hood. I think I heard you call me that once before."

"It was a long time ago," Mrs. Bennet said. "And I'm sorry. I didn't see how much of a man you were."

Lucy could hear Dally resisting his blush, and in response, she turned bright red. No matter how old they got, there was still something Lucy found so _cute _about her husband.

"I get that a lot," Dally said, though it clearly wasn't true. "Hey, I don't wanna bother her if she don't wanna see me, but I was really hopin' to talk to Lucy."

Lucy wanted to stand up and scream. _Yes, Mom! Yes, Mom! Yes, Mom! Tell him I'm here! Is my baby here? Bring my baby back here so I can tell her what a wonderful mother I'm going to be … what a wonderful grandmother she certainly has! _But she didn't. In fact, she knew she didn't have to. For the first time since she was a little girl, Lucy Bennet knew that Esther Bennet was, and would always be, her greatest ally. She would take care of this.

"I know she wants to see you," Mrs. Bennet said. "She's at the table. She hasn't been able to touch her breakfast. She's been thinking a lot."

"About me?"

"In part, yes. Enough."

"Hey, man, as long as she's thinkin' about me, I'll take it. I don't even care how much anymore."

"I understand."

Dally muttered some sort of thank you to his mother-in-law, and Lucy heard him pick Elenore up from off the ground and place her on his hip. Her heart jumped again, but before, she wasn't sure it could go much higher. Somehow, it did. Despite the fact that she was anything but gussied, she tried to look into the reflection of her water glass to fix her hair. She didn't want Dally to see her after she tried to leave him if she looked like she was a mess. It didn't matter that he'd seen her look terrible all those years before this moment. This moment was one of the big ones, and Lucy wanted to be ready for it.

And then, just as she was warming to the idea that they would be there, Dally and Elenore appeared.

Lucy and Dally held eye contact as though they hadn't seen each other in years. It had been less than one day. It didn't matter. The truth was that Lucy and Dally hadn't connected in nearly a year, and it was about time to put a stop to all that. Lucy wasn't really going to leave him. She couldn't. He was Dally, and they made such a team. It wasn't that she was a great wife to him and a great mother to his child, though she was. It was that they were better together. They were better when they could rely on each other. They were better when they understood each other. Lucy didn't belong to Dally, but she did exist alongside him. And that, she couldn't imagine ever changing.

"Mommy!" Elenore shouted.

At the sound of her newest name, Lucy burst into tears. But they weren't empty tears. They weren't tears of fear that she would never be anything but Elenore Winston's mother. She _was _Elenore Winston's mother. She was proud of that. She was Elenore Winston's mother, but she was also Lucy Bennet, aspiring professor and lover of Victorian novels. Thanks to her own mother, she had the room to be both. No, these were not empty tears or tears of despair. These were tears of pride and belonging and _love_.

Somehow, even though they didn't exchange a word, Dally knew exactly what Lucy was thinking. He'd never use any of those words out loud, but it didn't matter. Lucy knew. She knew because he was standing in front of her, refusing to let her go and trying to keep hold of a thing they both knew they wanted.

"Hi," Dally finally said.

Lucy let out a little laugh. After all these months, she was exhausted, and it was all she could manage.

"Hello."

* * *

Mrs. Bennet took Elenore out of the dining room and walked around the block with her a few times. It was important, she thought, to give Lucy and Dally the chance to talk by themselves. Lucy and Dally, of course, agreed. They sat beside each other at the dining room table, and because no one but Lucy was there to see it, Dally grabbed his wife's hands and refused to let go, as though she would disappear if he loosened his grip just a bit. Lucy grabbed his hands with equal force, equally afraid that Dally would float away if she didn't grab him.

"So, Bennet," Dally said. His voice was so low and so slow. It would have been more attractive to Lucy if she weren't so thrilled that he was there at all. "Do you wanna tell me what the fuck's goin' on?"

Lucy laughed a little and kissed her husband's hands.

"I don't even know where to start," she said.

"How about here? How about the fact that you went to the library yesterday afternoon, and after ya got home late, you decided, 'Hey, you know what I should do? Abandon my family!'"

"Oh, you know why."

"You know I don't."

"I missed Elenore's bedtime. After all that fuss you made about it the past few months and after my promise that I'd be back in time to put her to bed last night, I didn't make it. I blew it _again_. And it was all because I decided to go out and work on _my _term paper. I fell asleep because I put _my _body before my child's. I couldn't be the kind of mother who didn't choose her child first. I had to get out of there."

"And then what? A few hours passed, and ya had some sorta conversion?"

"Yes. I talked to my mother."

"I don't think I ever heard you say that before."

"Dally."

"What? I'm serious. Ya talk to your old man all the time, but I ain't ever seen you have a talk with your old lady that's more than about Elenore's dresses or how many extra forks ya need to set the table the right way."

Lucy sighed. Unfortunately, that had been her relationship with her mother for too long. That was the problem with growing up and with being a child, Lucy thought. You were never exactly privy to the idea that your parents could be people with lives and narratives before you. She regretted not knowing her mother as Esther Jones. She regretted not knowing her as Esther at all. Maybe that was an unknown benefit of one's own motherhood. As a result, the daughter befriends her mother in a way she never thought she would understand.

"Bennet," Dally said. "We been tryin' to have this talk for so long now. I'm gonna ask, and I hope you just tell me. What's the matter? How have you been feelin' lately? How come you're feelin' that way?"

And maybe it was the sincere and distressed look in Dally's eyes. Maybe it was the earnestness and immediacy of Soda's most recent letter. But Lucy figured it was just that the time was finally right. She was finally ready. When she looked at Dally, she no longer saw a test that he was waiting for her to fail. She saw a man. She saw her husband. She saw the person she loved most in the whole world. She couldn't keep him in the dark anymore. He deserved to know the truth.

And so, Lucy told Dally everything. She told him about feeling worried that being a wife and a mother wasn't enough for her. She told him she worried about not being the best mother Elenore could have because she was so engrossed in her schoolwork and her desire to professionalize. She told him she was afraid of being honest because she assumed he thought honesty was for the weak and foolish. And when she was finally done explaining what she'd been thinking, feeling, and going through, she asked him the question she still didn't know the answer to.

"Do you think I'm weak and foolish?" she asked. "For not telling you the truth before. For feeling this way at all."

"Hell no," Dally said. "Are you kiddin'? Don't you ever repeat this to nobody, 'specially not the rest of those guys. But I think it's real tuff of you to tell me how you been feelin' lost. It's real easy to pretend like nothin' gets to ya when you know it really does. It's real easy to think that's cool and to want to be cool. I know it's what I want."

Lucy nodded.

"But there's somethin' pretty fuckin' tuff about bein' real, too," Dally said. "To not care what people think of ya. To be able to trust somebody like that. Bennet, fuckin' … I was so scared you didn't trust me."

Dally wondered when he became the kind of guy that a woman (not to mention a woman as smart and tough as Lucy Bennet) could trust. Even his own sister could barely trust him. When did he become that guy? He decided not to ask himself that question anymore.

"It wasn't that," Lucy said. "It's never been that. It'll never _be _that. I trust you completely. I have since we got married. But I didn't want you to think that you weren't enough for me. You're always going to be enough for me. You're the person I married, and I didn't just marry you on a dare. I married you because I wanted to. I've stayed married to you all these years because I want to. I didn't want you to think you were ever second best to anything, even if the other thing was me."

Dally grabbed his wife's hands and kissed them. He almost didn't care who saw him. Being tuff was about a lot more than pretending to care about nothing. Being tuff was about not caring what other people thought of you, whether that meant you were being dragged down to the station again or you were sitting at a table with your wife, holding her hands and trying to understand where her heart had been.

"Bennet, I'm sorry," Dally said.

"For what?" Lucy asked. "You didn't do anything wrong. Not about this."

"I guess not, but I'm sorry anyway. Fuck. I hate that … I don't know, I hate that you spent the last year feelin' some type of way and feelin' like ya couldn't tell me about it 'cause ya didn't want to look weak. I hate that I'm the kinda guy who could make you wanna keep that a secret 'cause ya thought I was gonna give you a hard time about it or somethin'. I don't know."

"You're not. Not anymore. And I'm not that woman anymore, either. I just got stuck. But I'm unstuck now, Dally. And if you wanna rip up that letter I left you …"

"I just can't believe you didn't think you could be everything, man."

Perhaps it was his phrasing. Perhaps it was the fact that several years earlier, Dallas Winston never would have said a thing like it. But Lucy couldn't help herself. She grinned like she hadn't in almost a year, and she kissed her husband's lips – for real, this time, and with a force she'd recently thought she'd forgotten how to hone.

"Thank you," she said. "For asking. For not judging. For not leaving."

"It's a little unbelievable, ya know?" Dally asked. "Everybody thought I'd be the one who tried to leave."

"I knew you wouldn't. Even when I didn't know it, I knew it. So, what do you say? We can't start over."

Dally's face fell. He didn't even care how he looked.

"I thought …"

"We can't start over because there's no such thing," Lucy said. "Everything we do and every choice we make is because of a bunch of old choices that either went right or wrong. And so much of what I've done lately has been wrong. It doesn't mean we can forget it and start over. But we can keep going, you know? We can keep going. Turn the page."

It was Dally's turn to kiss his wife with an immediacy and a force he once worried they'd forgotten how to hone. As the two of them sat there, the weight of the last year falling down around their ankles and being whisked into the air for another memory and another argument, they knew. They knew it in a way they hadn't in January or February. This was it. Things were going to be different. They wouldn't reset, but they were going to be different.

God help him, but Dally even thought they could be better.

* * *

**So, I've had that chapter planned for a long time, and I hope it doesn't feel anticlimactic. I didn't want to put too much emphasis on the actual dialogue between Lucy and Dally because I think they've actually been having the conversation over the course of the last year … only now, there's a frame for Dally to understand. Only one chapter left in this fic! I know the other characters weren't in this one, but you can bet there's a mighty good reason they'll all be present for the next one.**

**I'm impressed that this took three days, as it's the longest chapter in the fic (not by far, but technically). I don't expect the final chapter to be up quite as quickly, as I have a bigger workload this week than I did the week before. Wish me luck!**

**Hinton owns **_**The Outsiders**_**. I own this really cool tank top with an old design for **_**The Empire Strikes Back **_**on it. Just the top, though. Not the image. I have to stop with these rabbit holes.**


	15. Chapter 15

On April 6, 1969, Johnny Cade went to work, and Sadie Lou Curtis Cade went to visit Lucy Bennet. As Lucy sat on the couch and put the finishing touches on her _Jane Eyre _paper, Sadie paced up and down the living room. After a few minutes of the monotony, Lucy looked up from her work and smiled. In the midst of her pacing, Sadie noticed Lucy's smile and, naturally, scowled.

"What're you smiling at?" Sadie asked. "I'm miserable here!"

"I know, and I'm sorry," Lucy said, though she still couldn't manage to wipe the grin off her face. "If anyone knows how to commiserate here, it's me. I just had a thought."

"Would you like to spit it out, or would you like to continue to choke on it?"

"Sadie! I've never heard you get so violent."

"Well, you've never seen me with a ripe baby in my body. Things change when you have a ripe baby in your body."

Lucy closed her copy of _Jane Eyre _and focused on Sadie. As she spoke, she reminded herself not to sound condescending. One should, of course, never condescend to a woman (especially, Lucy believed, if one _was _a woman). But it was especially important not to condescend to a pregnant woman. A pregnant woman, as Lucy knew from experience, was already dealing with enough.

"I know that," Lucy said. "I was just thinking. Two years ago – almost _exactly _two years ago – God, did you plan that or something?"

"I wasn't really planning for this kid," Sadie said. "I mean, I was, but I don't think I saw it coming last July."

"Somebody saw something coming. That's how you got here."

Sadie glared again. Lucy bit her lip to keep from giggling. It wasn't that she wanted to condescend. It was that she couldn't believe Sadie Lou Curtis was Sadie Lou Cade, and she was about to have a baby all her own. It seemed like so long ago that they were all just friends – that they were all just children. Lucy had spent the better part of a year wishing they could go back to being children. But she knew better now. She and Sadie and Dally and Soda were not children. They _had _children. They were young, but they were not the young ones now.

The thought was not bittersweet.

"Sorry," Lucy said. "It's just kind of funny. Two years ago, I was at your folks' place, pacing around the living room, scared out of my mind to have a baby of my own … and now, here you are. You're pacing around my place, and you're …"

"Scared out of my mind to have a baby," Sadie said. "I think I'll be scared out of my mind even after I have the baby. I think I'll be scared out of my mind when the baby is eighteen and suddenly not a baby anymore. I think I'm about to spend the rest of my life scared out of my mind. Is that how you feel, Lucy? Are you just constantly scared out of your mind?"

Lucy nodded.

"When Elenore leaves my side, I panic," she said. "Even when I know she's in good hands. It's when I can't see her that I get scared. And it's not even that something will happen, like, she'll fall down and scrape her knee or get caught in the middle of a scrape between two guys on the street. I've had irrational nightmares where a piano falls from the top of this store and kills her, but I can't explain those."

"Maybe she'll have a crushing musical talent when she grows up," Sadie offered.

Lucy snorted, amused.

"Yeah, maybe. It's not that I'm afraid she'll get physically hurt. It's that she's going to go out into the world. Before long, I'll have to send her to school. And you know how mean girls at school can be. We went there!"

Sadie nodded.

"There was a whole group of Soc girls who said just terrible things about you," Sadie said. "I remember. Jane tried to beat the tar out of them once when she and I were in the eighth grade."

"Jane _did _beat the tar out of them. In the parking lot of the high school, remember? Incidentally, she took that one girl's face and pressed it _against _the tar until she said she was sorry."

In spite of herself, Sadie giggled.

"Jane," she said. "What would we be without her?"

"Lost," Lucy said. "And we'd have absolutely no sense of fashion."

"Tell me about it. If I didn't have Jane, I wouldn't know that when I go out to buy a lipstick, I should go for a terracotta color because of my eyes. I wouldn't even know the word _terracotta_."

"Yes, you would."

"OK, I would. But I wouldn't know it had anything to do with makeup."

Lucy smiled. These were the talks she'd missed with Sadie – with her best friend in the world. Though she knew Sadie would never stop being her best friend, regardless of where the rest of their lives took them, Lucy knew it had to be different. They were not still children. They were not still teenagers, lying flat on their backs in Sadie's former bedroom, wondering which Austen heroine they were most like and which record they would play next. But they didn't need to be children. They didn't need to be teenagers. Lucy Bennet and Sadie Curtis Cade were _women_. They were finally women, and in that process (one that had happened when their heads were turned to face the other way), they had not lost one another.

It was not bittersweet.

"The point is, Sadie, I'm scared all the time," Lucy said. "And for a really long time, I let my fear be the boss of everything I did. I even stepped away from my family as I tried to figure things out. And I don't regret that. I regret some of the choices I made. I was a little bit rash. But I don't regret needing time. I don't regret trying to figure out what it means to be Lucy in a world where Elenore is the center."

"I think you might be projecting your recent breakthroughs onto me," Sadie said.

Lucy smirked. It was true.

"You're not wrong," she said. "And I'm sorry. But I also mean it. You're going be scared. You're going to wonder what happened to you and what happened to your mind. But they're not gone. You'll still be Sadie whenever you push this kid out. And this kid is going to love you so, so much."

"It better."

"It will. Damn, don't you wish they'd hurry up and figure out how to tell us if we're having a boy or a girl before we push it out? It's so unfair to keep calling our babies _it_ before we meet them."

And then, in the ultimate parallel, Sadie Curtis Cade's water broke.

"What the hell?" Sadie shouted.

"Keep it down!" Lucy said. "There are customers down there."

"Yeah, I think they'll understand when they find out I'm _going into labor_," Sadie said. "What the hell?"

"Did you not expect this?"

"Shut _up_, Lucy!"

"I'm sorry!"

"When your water broke, you said it was uncommon. You said it only happens in 10% of all deliveries! That's what the doctor told you!"

"I know, and it's true. But, Sadie. Come on. If two people's waters are going to break, don't you think they'd be you and me? Don't you think we might overlap just a little?"

Sadie tried to respond, but it was damn near impossible. She couldn't make any noise at all. All she could do was drop her mouth open and try to scream. It was a speechless pain, and yet, Lucy knew exactly how to translate.

"I'll get the phone," she said. "I'll get us a car to the hospital."

"Thank …"

"You're welcome. And, hey, Sadie?"

"What?"

Lucy couldn't help but smile again. As a renewed mom, it was too easy.

"You're having a _baby_!"

* * *

_April 1, 1969_

_Dear Sadie Lou,_

_ I thought about giving you some April Fool about me not coming home this month but I knew that might kill you. So its true. Im coming home this month. Im coming home and when I do Im gonna get to meet your baby. Your BABY! Sadie! I cant belive it. I always kind of thought youd be the first of us Curtis kids to have a baby but now that its really happening I am so excited. Your the first one of us to give Mom and Dad a grandbaby. I know wherever they are right now they are so proud of you. I know wherever they are right now they are so excited to watch you become a mom._

_ And that really reminds me of something. I know your scared Sadie. I know your scared about being a mom beacause of whats been going on with Lucy and Dally and beacause being a parent seems like the damn scariest thing a person could ever do. I wanna do it too but that dont mean I aint scared out of my wits. And I think its OK to be scared. I think if you talked to Johnny about it youd find hes pretty scared too. Maybe you have talked to him about it. I dont know. But anyway I know its OK to be scared. Just dont let that fear keep you form moving forward._

_ You can do this. If anybody can do this you are the one. Being a little afraid of something is OK. Good even. I gotta tell myself that all the time where Im at but I aint in the mood for you to worry so I aint gonna tell you more then that. You gotta be a little scared of something. If you aint scared of something you aint trying hard enough. And I know you. You always try at stuff. You pretty much never give up. Remember when we was 7 or something and you tried for over a month to do a flip around the monkey bars? Man Steve would have been impressed if he hadn't just learned how to do a flip off the slide. Point is I know you. You aint ever given up on something that meant a lot to you. And I read your letters Sadie Lou. I know you want to be a mom. I cant wait for you to be a mom. I cant wait to come home and meet this kid whose gonna be my first niece or nephew. I hope whoever the kid is they got your eyes and Johnny's hair. I hope they end up getting your couridge and Johnny's compassion. I hope they like me. Ah who am I kidding? Of course theyre gonna like me. Everybody does!_

_ I love you Sadie Lou. I dont know where you are right now but I hope your breathing and moving forward even if your scared. Its OK to be scared. Just know you got a lot of people on your side who wanna make sure your doing OK. You got a lot of people on your side who would dump everything in a second just to help you out in a pinch. I cant wait to come home and be one of them. I miss you. I love you. Keep going. – Sodapop Curtis_

* * *

"Why _does _he always sign his letters like that?" Darry asked and tucked Sadie's letter from her twin brother into the back pocket of his jeans after he finished reading it to her. "You know. With his first _and _last name."

"He's got a pretty tuff name," Sadie said. "I like it best out of all our names."

"You would. You're his twin. You gotta like him best."

"Darry, man, do you really think now's the best time to give me a hard time about my favorite brother?"

It was true. In that moment, Sadie was lying in a hospital bed, in labor with her first baby. Since she wasn't delivering just yet, she was allowed to have men in the room with her. Johnny was taking a moment, which Sadie lovingly encouraged. He and Ponyboy had been outside for a little while when Darry stepped in and offered to read Sadie her most recent letter from Sodapop.

"Sorry, kid," Darry said. "It's just that I'm tryin' to keep you distracted. Is it working?"

"I'm still in an extreme amount of pain. Does that answer your question?"

"Yeah, I think it does."

Sadie thought. She thought about Soda's letter, and she thought about how her life was going to change in the next few hours. It had already changed. It changed the moment she found out she was pregnant, and it changed the moment she went into labor. Suddenly, _being pregnant _was the easy part. After all the weeks of vomiting and all the months of wishing she could fit into all of her old clothes, Sadie longed once more for the easy part. Giving birth was changing everything. The next time she went back to the little house she shared with Johnny Cade, they would be parents. They would take someone else home with them. She was scared out of her mind again, but then, she remembered what Soda had written. After all, Soda knew her better than anyone else in the world.

She continued to think – about Soda and Johnny, specifically. She thought about how it had been so long since she'd seen Soda. When he left, she was still newly married; now, she and Johnny had recently celebrated their first anniversary. On the day, he brought home a bouquet of roses (not Sadie's favorite, but she didn't tell him that), and they talked about what they would read for the baby … what kind of music they would play for the baby. There was no greater love, Sadie discovered, than between two people who were just weeks away from having a baby, especially if it was there first. She wondered if that was how her mother and father felt in the weeks and days before Darry was born. She wished she could ask them.

But she thought about how different she'd been when Soda was still at home. When she had a feeling that something terrible had happened to him the night he'd received his draft card, she up and abandoned Johnny on their wedding night. Now, she wasn't so sure she'd always choose her twin over her husband. Maybe it wasn't that. Maybe it was only because Soda had been gone for almost a full year, and Sadie had no choice but to always run to Johnny … always depend on Johnny. But she liked to think that when Soda finally came home again, she would split her time between her twin and her husband. And now, of course, there was the baby. But Sadie would never _make time _for the baby. Instead, the baby would be Sadie's time.

The thought was not bittersweet.

She wondered if Soda would be different when he returned. Of course he would be. But would he expect her to have stayed the same? They were still such children when he left. Sadie knew she was no longer a child. She was going to have a child, and with that, she couldn't stand to be a child herself. What would Soda think? Would he feel betrayed? Would he resent the fact that the world and the neighborhood had turned, grown, and changed when he wasn't looking? Sadie's heart lurched at the thought. If anyone knew how sensitive her brother was, she was the one. She thought about the look he would get in his eyes when he was lost or confused. She never wanted him to have that look again. She never wanted to be _the cause _of that look. Did Soda know? Did Soda know that she was a different kind of Sadie now? Would they still be _twins _in the way they were when they lived in the same home? The questions were unknowable, and Sadie wasn't sure how she felt about that.

There was a radio in the hospital room. She'd requested it. And in the most bizarre turn of events, she heard what they were playing.

"_When you think the night has seen your mind / That inside you're twisted and unkind / Let me stand to show that you are blind / Please put down your hands / 'Cause I see you_."

That was enough for Sadie. She bit her tongue as she bore the pain. It was teetering on unbearable, and Sadie wished desperately for it to end, but it never did. She did not want to yell out. She couldn't explain it, but it felt wrong. She would bite down and make it through in silence. Though Sadie Curtis wasn't the toughest girl on the wrong side of town, she was still tougher than she gave herself credit.

"Darry?" she finally asked. Her voice shook.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Can you try to find Johnny? I wanna see him."

Darry smiled warmly, almost as though Sadie's question came as a pleasant surprise. He walked over to her in the bed and kissed her forehead, almost like Sadie imagined their father would have done.

"You got it."

* * *

After a few minutes of trying to pace up and down the maternity ward, Johnny decided he couldn't bear to be inside the hospital. Sadie said she needed a minute alone with her brother, and he gave it to her. He would give Sadie anything she wanted, after all. He asked Ponyboy if he wouldn't mind accompanying him outside for a minute or two, and though Ponyboy obliged, he couldn't help but remember. He'd needed to get outside and walk around two years earlier when Lucy was in labor with Elenore. He wasn't sure what the connection was, but he knew there had to be one. When it came to Lucy and Sadie, there was always a connection.

"Thanks for comin' outside with me, Pony," Johnny said. "I didn't think I could be in there for much longer. I was goin' crazy."

"Yeah, what's up with that?" Ponyboy asked. "You ain't gonna pull what Dally tried to pull when Elenore was born, are ya?"

"What did Dally pull?"

"Never mind."

Ponyboy knew he probably shouldn't scare Johnny with stories of Dallas Winston, who turned out to be one hell of a father to his wonderful daughter, attempting to leave his wife to raise their baby on her own before Soda convinced him to stay. Soda never confirmed nor denied that story, but Ponyboy assumed it had to be true. No matter the changes Dally had gone through since getting together with Lucy and realizing more about himself and his past, he was still Dally. Soda was still Soda. Dally was the kind of guy who split, and Soda was the kind of guy who stayed. Ponyboy was sure of it.

"It ain't 'cause I'm tryin' to leave your sister or nothin'," Johnny said. "I just don't like hospitals, man. I've had enough bad dreams about 'em. And I've had enough bad dreams about today."

"You have?"

"Oh, yeah. Lots of 'em. I ain't been sharin' them with Sadie 'cause I don't want her to get scared about what's gonna happen to the baby. But I dream about it all the time. Last dream I had, the Socs who messed up my face stormed into the hospital and took my baby with 'em. Like I didn't deserve to be a father to my own baby. I woke up screamin' somethin' awful, but Sadie didn't hear me. She's been sleepin' … well, like a baby, if ya wanna know the truth."

"I didn't need to know the truth. I kinda hate the image of you sleepin' next to my big sister."

"Hey, that's all right, man. I'm sure ole Tim and Curly feel the same way about you lyin' in bed with their littlest sister."

Ponyboy turned a deep shade of scarlet. It had been a few months since he finally told Johnny about that Valentine's Day when he and Carrie Shepard were just a bit younger. Johnny had been respectful, but every now and then, he brought it up, wondering if Ponyboy had made a move and asked Carrie out on a real date yet. Ponyboy never could. He never told Johnny the real reason, either. Only Darry knew about that.

"We ain't talkin' about Carrie," Ponyboy said. "We talkin' about you and Sadie. She's in there havin' your _baby_, man. How's that feel?"

Johnny couldn't help but allow himself a small smile.

"I can't hardly believe it, man," Johnny said. "I mean, feels like just yesterday I was lookin' at Sadie in that white dress your mom got for her that one time. You remember it, don't ya, Pony?"

"I don't remember none of Sadie's dresses."

This was, of course, a lie. As an artist, Ponyboy paid attention to a lot of different clothes – especially his sister's dresses. They had the most color and the most intricate designs, which made them the most fun to draw. The only person in the world who knew that Ponyboy sometimes liked to sketch dresses based on Sadie's was Jane Randle because she accidentally saw some pictures after Ponyboy dropped his sketchbook in front of her. She shared that she liked to draw dresses of her own. In her fantasies, Jane was a fashion designer living in New York City, and Soda was like her trophy husband. Incidentally, Ponyboy was the only person who knew that about Jane. Their trusts mattered to one another, and even in front of Johnny, Ponyboy couldn't say anything that might lead him back to Jane and her secret wishes.

"Well, I remember it," Johnny said. "And I know we was just kids and everything, but I remember thinkin' she looked so pretty."

"Ain't we still just kids?" Ponyboy asked.

He was surprised when Johnny shook his head.

"Naw, man," Johnny said. "We ain't. I don't think … I don't think we been kids for awhile now. I know it ain't been that many years since me and you watched that sunrise in your backyard and you recited that poem and all. I know it ain't been many years since I said we should be gold, like green."

Ponyboy nodded. He'd been newly fourteen years old then. Johnny had been sixteen. It was a few weeks before Dally took the fall for Two-Bit about the school windows, a few months before Johnny finally asked Sadie for a date, and just two years before Elenore Winston, the first baby of their gang, was born. It had all gone by so fast. Ponyboy was feeling whiplash. In so many ways, he was still newly fourteen, standing in the backyard with Johnny, reciting Robert Frost like tomorrow would never come, despite the fact that tomorrow was, quite literally, staring him in the face. In so many ways, he'd taken what Johnny said that morning to heart. He _was _gold like green. He _wanted _to be. It seemed like the only way to do that was to stay a kid and enjoy all the things that kids did. It meant avoiding things that made you seem grown up or boring or stuck (which was, as only Darry knew, part of the reason why Ponyboy couldn't bring himself to commit to poor Carrie Shepard). He didn't feel like he was ready to be anything but a kid. But maybe Johnny was right. Maybe they'd all grown out of being kids when they weren't even looking.

It happened to Darry that way, after their folks died.

It happened to Dally that way, after Lucy told him she was pregnant with Elenore.

It happened to Johnny that way, after he proposed to Sadie, whom he loved.

It happened to Soda that way, after he opened the mail.

When would it happen to Ponyboy?

He wasn't sure if he was jealous of the other guys for growing up or if he felt sorry for them. Perhaps, he thought, maybe it was a bit of both. Part of him loved that he held onto his childlike side. It made him creative. It made him fun (at least, fun to himself). But when he looked around, he seemed to fit in less and less with the people he loved (and who loved him). They were dealing with _real things_, like whether or not they could make their marriages work and whether or not their babies were going to be born healthy. Ponyboy had almost one full year of college under his belt, and he was still worried about where he may or may not have misplaced his colored pencils. He knew he had some imaginative skills, and in some way or another, he knew they would eventually pay off. Nevertheless, it made him feel anxious. Like everyone was operating under the same timetable, and he was behind. After skipping a grade in school, Ponyboy feared almost nothing more than _falling behind_.

It almost made him want to ask Carrie Shepard for a real date, but he knew he couldn't do that to her. He respected Carrie too much. If – when – he asked her for a true date, he would do it because he wanted to, not because he was feeling insecure.

"But it ain't really like that anymore, ya know?" Johnny said. "I don't think it can be. In a couple of hours, me and Sadie are gonna have a baby all our own. We can't just be green anymore. I mean, think about your own folks, Ponyboy. Were they green? Did they act like kids?"

Ponyboy wasn't sure how to respond. Although Johnny had known his parents, he hadn't (of course) known them in the same way that the Curtis siblings did. He saw all the best parts of them all the time. He saw the mother who was willing to make a big deal about little accomplishments and events because she wasn't sure she could make the big moments (Thanksgivings, Christmases, and birthdays) count like they did for other kids. He saw the father who was proud, yet not boastful, of everything his children accomplished and became. But now that Ponyboy was older, when he looked back on his parents, he found it hard to see beyond their flaws. Now, he thought of how selfish and forgetful his mother could be, like that time she forgot to pick Sadie up from school because she was focused on whatever _she _was doing. Now, he thought of his father's dependence on alcohol and how even when Darry and Sadie cautioned him to stop, he sniped at them and told them to mind their own business. Of course his folks weren't green. But, as he was remembering in bits and pieces that he didn't like, they weren't gold.

"We can't be kids if we're gonna raise kids," Johnny said. "We gotta … we gotta at least seem like we're grown up. Ya know, for their sakes."

Ponyboy cracked a smile, but Johnny knew better than to take it at a glance. Whenever Ponyboy cracked a smile like that, it meant he was falling apart from the inside out. Johnny wondered what he could say to try to salvage this moment with Ponyboy – this last moment when they could even try to be two kids hanging together outside of a hospital – but he was out of words. They were not kids anymore. They were no longer green.

The thought was not bittersweet.

"Hey," Johnny said. "I didn't mean to upset ya. It's just I can't help what's true. That's all. We ain't kids anymore, but that ain't a bad thing."

"How is that not a bad thing?" Ponyboy asked. "If we ain't thinkin' like we used to, what happens? Don't we lose it? Whatever it was … don't we lose it?"

Johnny shook his head. It was the most assured he'd felt of something in a very long time.

"Naw," he said. "We don't lose it."

"Then what happens?"

"I don't know. 'F I did, I'd tell ya, but I don't. I'm standing right here, at the edge of it, waitin' for Sadie to have our baby, and I don't think we lose it. Whatever it is. Was. I think … I don't know, Pony. I think it just changes. Once I'm really there, and I figure it out, I'll let ya know. So you know you don't have to be scared or nothin'."

And maybe, in another time, Ponyboy would have been offended. Maybe he would have felt like Johnny was accusing him of something – of not being as tough as Darry or as open-minded as Soda. But there was something different about that day and about that conversation. Ponyboy shrugged, and he meant it. It wasn't sarcastic. It wasn't the end of the world. It was only a shrug.

"I guess I'll figure it out one day," he said.

He was surprised that he meant it.

"I gotta tell you, Ponyboy," Johnny said. "I'm real scared right now. I'm real scared."

He was pacing up and down a small stretch of cement, his hands crossed behind his head, worried out of his mind about things he could hardly control.

"I ain't ever been a daddy," he said. "I know you know that, and I know every daddy's been a daddy for the first time. I ain't new to bein' new. I know that. But I can't help thinkin'. What if there's no escapin' it? What if I'm meant to be like my old man for the rest of my life? Huh? What if I look at my baby, and all of a sudden, I ain't me no more? What if there's somethin' in me that makes me turn into my old man? How am I gonna live like that? How's your sister gonna live like that? How is my baby gonna live like that? Would the baby live like me? Scared every time somebody walks into a room or stands up too quick? Huh?"

It was the most Ponyboy had heard Johnny talk at once since they were … well, since they were still only kids. As Johnny continued to pace up and down the small stretch of cement, Ponyboy shook his head, trying to bring Johnny back into the fold.

"You ain't gonna turn out like your old man," Ponyboy said. "You know how I know that?"

"No," Johnny said. "But you better not be sayin' it just to make me feel better."

"I ain't. But I know you ain't gonna turn out like your old man 'cause you're still worried about how you're gonna make life easier or harder for your baby. Your old man never thought of anything like that on the day you were born. He was probably smokin' and drinkin' and tryin' to avoid the truth. That ain't you. You ain't stopped worryin' about this baby since Sadie came home and told ya she was havin' it. That already makes you a good daddy – better than your old man ever knew."

Johnny would have smiled, but he was still shaking. Somewhere inside of him, he knew that he might have literally been his father's son, but in all other ways, he was his own person. He cared. He cared about other people so much, it was like he could barely stand up.

"I hope you're right," Johnny finally said.

"I know I am," Ponyboy said. "Ain't no hope involved."

And Johnny would have come up with some sort of response, but he ran out of time. Before he could speak about hope, his own version of hope came out from inside the hospital and met up with him, a look of flooded relief across his pained face. It was Darry Curtis.

"Dammit," Darry breathed, surprisingly out of breath. "I looked on every floor for you."

Johnny's first response, of course, was to panic.

"What's wrong?"

But when Darry cracked one of his rare smiles, Johnny knew everything was going to be OK. It was one of the few times in his life when he felt assured enough to say it.

"Nothin's wrong," Darry said. "It's just Sadie. She wants to see ya before they make her push."

It was the first time in all the years he'd known him that Darry had ever seen Johnny smile so big.

* * *

Lucy sat in the hospital's waiting room with a useless magazine on her lap and a bottle of Coca-Cola in her hand. She could have gone the whole hog and bought a bottle of Pepsi down at the store to really make it seem like Soda was there on the birth of Sadie's first child, but she couldn't help herself. Pepsi just didn't taste as good. Ponyboy used to give her hell for that when they were children, but they were no longer children. They _had _children.

The thought was not bittersweet.

Lucy thought about her child – her little Elenore, whose birthday was right around the corner and would soon be two years old – as Dally entered the waiting room and sat down beside her.

"How's our girl?" Lucy asked.

"She's good," Dally said. "Didn't want me to leave."

"She's attached to you. That's a good thing."

It was an even better thing that Dally was at a place in his life where he knew Lucy was right … where he _wanted _Elenore to become attached to him.

"Are you sure that was a good idea?" Lucy asked. "Leaving her with your sister and all that."

"It's not a _good _idea, but it ain't a bad idea, either," Dally said. "V gets herself into a lot of stupid shit, but she ain't gonna take a baby with her. She's got half a brain."

"I know. I know. I'm just worried. I spent so much time not being the best mom I could be … to send her off to stay with your sister, who she almost never sees …"

"Calm down. Okay? While you were off … bein' Bennet … Elenore spent a lot of time with my sister. They know each other pretty well."

"Elenore spent time with your sister, and I didn't know it?"

"You didn't know a lot of things that were goin' on."

Lucy sighed. She wished Dally didn't have to bring it up, but she knew better than that. Things had been better since Lucy told him the truth about where her head and her heart had been that year. That didn't mean everything was erased. They'd be trying to resolve 1968 for a long time – maybe the rest of their lives. The good thing, Lucy thought, was that they had the rest of their lives. She knew that now.

"It's OK," Dally said. "This ain't … we'll talk later."

Lucy nodded. It was all she could do.

"Elenore's fine," Dally said. "V knows how to look after her now. Plus, when I dropped Elenore off, V wasn't alone."

"She wasn't?"

"Naw. She was in her living room, and I thought she was alone. But she wasn't. Just before I left, somebody came outta the kitchen. God only knows why, but it was Steve."

Lucy slammed her palms on top of her thighs. The smacking sound startled even her husband, who had spent his entire life hearing much worse. He furrowed his brow, unsure of where her reaction was coming from.

"Are you kidding me?" Lucy asked. "Steve Randle was at your sister's place … just … unannounced … and you didn't _lead with that_?"

"I didn't know I fuckin' should have," Dally said. "What's the big deal, man? It's just Steve."

"In _your sister's house_. Is that usually a place he goes? Why didn't you beat the living shit out of him?"

"I don't beat the shit outta guys in front of my daughter. I got some class, don't I?"

"You keep telling yourself that."

Dally rolled his eyes. It was the most domesticated he'd ever get.

"Well, I ain't beatin' the shit outta Steve just for hangin' around my sister," Dally said. "He ain't hittin' on her. He ain't tryin' to get with her. He knows if he were really tryin' to pull somethin', I'd kick his ass so hard he wouldn't know where he was gonna land. But he ain't tryin' nothin'. It ain't like Two-Bit all those years ago when I took him out back and kicked his ass. It ain't like that at all."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Steve's got a girl, remember? Evie somethin'?"

"Ah, c'mon. You aren't Ponyboy. You're Dally. You're telling me you honestly trust Steve to be faithful to Evie all the time? Even if they _have _been together for years?"

Dally didn't respond. He wasn't sure if Lucy knew that when he'd been with girls and women before finally admitting to his feelings for and about her, he'd always been faithful to them. It was about the only thing in the world he thought he was good at before. He knew how to stick to a babe. Of course, he didn't want to say anything too direct to Lucy. Things were better between the two of them, but the wounds from the past year were still raw. If they grazed them, they still bled. Perhaps they'd have to spend the rest of their lives trying to patch up these old cuts and trying to figure out where they fit into one another now that Lucy wasn't so afraid to be vulnerable in front of the one person she, in a different life and a different marriage, could be vulnerable in front of. The good news was, of course, that now, they knew they had the rest of their lives.

"You don't have to answer," Lucy said. "It's OK. Besides, I've been thinking."

"About what?" Dally asked.

"Well, if you remember correctly, our daughter's birthday is coming up soon. And she's going to be two years old."

Dally grinned in spite of himself. There was something about hearing his daughter's name (especially as it came out of his wife's mouth) that made him feel different. It made him feel _better _than he used to. Maybe one day, he'd be tough enough to say it out loud.

"I guess that's right," Dally said. "Dammit, has it really been two years since I tried to walk outta this same hospital and leave you and the baby by yourselves?"

Lucy shook her head.

"You never would have done that," she said. "I think you think you wanted to do that or that you maybe should have. But you were never going to."

Dally didn't respond. He didn't need to. It would be both too vulnerable and too obvious to say anything more.

"Ya know, I know we ain't supposed to get her fancy presents or nothin'," Dally said. "I know we ain't got enough money. But a couple of months ago, I took Elenore down to the store to get her to calm down. Thought maybe if she went out, she'd stop cryin'."

"Good thought," Lucy said, hopefully not with too much surprise.

"And she saw the tuffest rocking horse I ever seen. She fell in love with that thing. I wanted to buy it for her, but it was fuckin' expensive. And it was fuckin' heavy. So, I was thinkin', maybe if we asked your folks if they wanted to go in on it … and maybe if we asked Darry to borrow the truck to take it home …"

Lucy hadn't planned on having this conversation with Dally that day. But when she saw that look in his eyes … the look in eyes that seemed to know that buying Elenore a heavy rocking horse for their too-tiny apartment above a bookstore meant that they might be stuck in Tulsa and in the old neighborhood for the rest of their lives … she knew she had to. She reached out and took his hand. It startled him for a moment, but he let it happen. It had been too long since Lucy held his hand.

"See," she said. "We should talk."

"About what?" Dally asked.

"Our apartment. And the neighborhood. And the city. And the fact that I'm supposed to graduate from TU next year, and I don't plan on stopping my education after I get my bachelor's degree."

Once again, Dally smiled in spite of himself. He'd been hoping to have this conversation. For as much as he felt a connection to Tulsa and to the old neighborhood, he, too, was itching to get out and see what else he could find. Only it wasn't just about him anymore. It was about Lucy. It was about Elenore. They were inexorable with his body and mind, and he didn't even feel suffocated by them. Being connected to Lucy and Elenore was, in a way he could never really narrate, free.

"I thought so," he finally said. "Go on. Try me."

Lucy beamed. They hadn't gone back. They hadn't started over. She and Dally were moving on and moving forward, by one another's sides, with Elenore in the middle. They wouldn't have it any other way, even if the way forward took them far away.

The thought was not bittersweet.

* * *

When Jane heard that Sadie was starting to push, she ran to the bathroom. She didn't want anyone to see her cry.

It wasn't that she was jealous that Sadie was married and having a baby before her. There was a part of Jane that always thought she would be the first of the sisters to get married (to Soda), but she was beyond the jealousy now. Time, as Jane understood it, had a different relationship to everyone. Maybe it wasn't neutral or random, like Ponyboy had once suggested when the two of them got together to talk about missing Sodapop while he was gone. No, Jane thought time had a purpose, even if she didn't understand it. Time wanted Lucy and Sadie married before it wanted the same for Jane, and she would have to accept it. She would have to move on.

The real reason Jane cried when she learned that Sadie was pushing was because she was so worried for her.

Sadie was Jane's oldest friend. They might not have been as close in recent years. When Lucy moved to town in 1962, she and Sadie connected on a level Jane couldn't access. She and Sadie were just too different, and Sadie and Lucy were recognizably more alike. When Sadie started seeing Johnny, and Jane started seeing Soda, they were distracted by their new roles and didn't make as much time for one another as they once did. That didn't change the deep and all-consuming love that Jane Randle had for Sadie Curtis, who, indeed, would _always _be Sadie Curtis in her heart. They'd known each other since before they'd known what love was. They'd known each other since before they could speak. But that didn't change what both girls – _women_, now – already knew. They were sisters.

They were sisters, and sisters could not be undone.

Jane figured that Sadie would be fine in the delivery room. She was young and healthy, and she'd told them all a million times that the doctors were happy. There had been no complications with Sadie's pregnancy. By every account, she would have a relatively easy birth, and she would give birth to a healthy baby. Jane was confident of that. She'd been confident of that since Darry called her and told her that Sadie was going into labor. But that didn't explain the feeling that coursed through Jane's body as she made her way to the hospital that day. That didn't explain the feeling in Jane's body as she hovered between the bathroom sink and mirror.

Her heart was pounding, and she felt like she might vomit. Still, nothing ever came up. She was just standing there, looking at her reflection, feeling the terror rush through her bloodstream without a clue of why she felt this way. Sadie was going to be fine. That was what all the doctors said. When Darry finally came out into the waiting room to assuage everyone's worries about Sadie in the hospital bed, he told them that everything was fine. Sadie was healthy and safe.

But why did Jane feel such _dread_? Why did she feel like something was _doomed_?

She clutched her heart and waited for the panic to decrease … waited for her stomach to unravel. Before long, it was worse, and Jane wondered if she might collapse on the bathroom floor. She wondered if she might die. Of course, she refused to die – not before she could see if Sadie was all right and not before she could meet the new baby. Jane would live.

And then, all of a sudden, in the midst of the worst pain and panic of her young life, Jane was fine. She was relieved. Whatever it was, it was over now, and everyone was safe.

She took a number of deep, thankful breaths, closed her eyes, and leaned against the bathroom wall. She still needed her bearings, and she was curious: What was the meaning of that feeling? What happened to her? What happened _outside _of her?

A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened. In walked Katie Mathews, a sweet smile on her face. Jane jolted upward, both anxious and excited at the sight of Katie in the bathroom.

"Jane?" Katie asked. "What are you doin' in here?"

Jane shrugged.

"I don't know," she said. "I just … when Darry told us that Sadie was pushin', I couldn't really stand out there and wait. I needed to be alone."

"Well, you don't gotta be worried anymore, if that's what you're tryin' not to say. Sadie had the baby! We're allowed back there now, and she wants to see us. C'mon!"

When Jane left the bathroom and walked with Katie down the hall, it was like she was floating. _Sadie had the baby_. The first Curtis baby had arrived. She wished Soda were there to meet the kid.

Maybe even more, she wished Sadie's folks were there to meet their grandkid, too.

* * *

"It's a boy," Johnny said to the massive group of friends – _family _– in the hospital room that evening.

A chorus of congratulations erupted. Sadie sat in the bed, the baby on her chest, smiling tiredly up at the people she loved most in the world. Almost all of them were there.

"You knew it!" Lucy said.

"You're right," Sadie said. "I did."

She smiled down at her son in her arms. He hadn't opened his eyes yet, but she still hoped he looked like Johnny. If their son looked like his father, Sadie figured he would be set for life. There was no kinder face in all the world. Sadie hoped her son would grow up to be just like his father. Her wish and hope only intensified as she watched Johnny try to share an awkward congratulatory handshake with Darry, which then turned into an unabashed, unafraid embrace.

"So?" Jane asked. "What's his name?"

"Jane!" Lilly said. "You can't just _demand _to hear the kid's name. Though, I do have to add – he's _my _nephew, so I think I should know first."

"He's _my _nephew, too, ya know," Darry said. "And I'm Sadie's oldest brother, so I have the right to know first."

"In what world does that make sense?" Lucy asked.

"Born first, learn first."

"That logic is _tenuous_, Darry."

"But you admit it's still logic, don't ya, Professor Bennet?"

Lucy rolled her eyes. That was one thing she would miss if she and Dally did leave the old neighborhood – playing with the Curtis kids … playing with her sister and brothers.

"Would y'all calm down?" Johnny asked. "We called ya in here at the same time for a reason."

"To watch us all bicker?" Two-Bit asked. "Because if so, you are _succeeding_, Johnny, man."

He looked around the room and furrowed his brow.

"By the way, where the hell is Steve?" Two-Bit asked again. "Ain't he, like, Soda by proxy?"

Katie nudged him in the ribcage. He should have known better than to bring up Soda at a time like this. Everyone in there knew it was killing Sadie that Soda would be the last person to know the baby's name. It was a bad idea to suggest that anyone could ever replace him.

But judging by the grin on Sadie's cheeks, it didn't seem like she was in too much pain.

"No, Two-Bit," Sadie said. "We called you in here because we wanted you all to hear his name at the same time."

"And ya better buckle up," Johnny said. "It's a long one."

"Did it fit on the birth certificate?" Lilly asked.

"Barely."

"Ah, get the fuck on with it, please!" Dally complained. "Me and Lucy gotta pick up Elenore from my sister's place 'fore she ends up with a police record for her second birthday."

"You said she'd be fine!" Lucy objected.

"She's fine. I'm just tryin' to move things along."

"Well, then, shut the hell up, and let Sadie talk!"

At long last, there was a hush in the hospital room. Sadie looked up at her family, held her baby closer to her chest, and spoke.

"His name is Michael," she said.

There were gasps and coos, and Darry thanked Sadie and Johnny for the gesture. Two-Bit clapped Ponyboy on the back, but Ponyboy was still dumbstruck. He hadn't quite processed what the big idea was.

"Whaddya think of that, Pony?" Two-Bit asked. "Sadie and Johnny's baby is named Michael."

"Yeah," Ponyboy said. "It's a nice name."

"Ponyboy!" Johnny said. "You don't … you gotta get it, man!"

"What's your name?" Sadie asked.

"Ponyboy Curtis."

"What's your _full _name?"

"Oh. Ponyboy …"

And _then _he caught it.

"You named him Michael 'cause of _me?_"

Sadie nodded and burst out laughing. She should have known that her dreamy little brother wouldn't process right away. That was part of the reason why she and Johnny had agreed to name their first son after Ponyboy. They wanted him to be as kind as his father, as intelligent as his mother, and as creative as his youngest uncle. They thought maybe giving him a name like Michael was the best of all those worlds and wishes. Ponyboy's dreamy absentmindedness was the perfect reminder of who they thought their son – their little Michael – might turn out to be. They were proud of him already.

"I don't get it," Ponyboy said. "When you was little, you always said you'd name your first son Patrick. After Soda."

Sadie nodded.

"That's what I thought, too," she said. "But then me and Johnny got to thinkin', and we thought … we thought we want our son to grow up and be like you. We want him to grow up and be like Johnny. And who better to name him after than Johnny's best friend?"

"Who better to name him after than Sadie's little brother?" Johnny added.

Ponyboy didn't know what to say. All these months, he figured he would go back into the hospital room to meet his new nephew, little Patrick Curtis. He thought they'd pay tribute to Soda's absence – Soda's role as the glue in all of their lives since they were children (and even now that they were no longer children). But this was different. This was a step forward. They couldn't go back, and they didn't need to. They had to move forward. Now, there was Michael, and he needed an example. He needed his parents' example. He needed his _uncle's _example.

He didn't know what else to do, so he walked up to Sadie in the bed, bent forward, and kissed the top of her head.

"You're welcome," she said, knowing her brother was still too tough to thank her out loud.

"Yeah," Ponyboy said. "Yeah."

"Well, there's more, isn't there?" Jane asked.

"Yeah, you promised us a long name," Lucy said. "I think we all want to hear it."

"All I'm sayin'," Johnny said, "is to buckle in."

Sadie rolled her eyes playfully. She held Michael closer. It was so much fun to have him near to her now.

"His name is Michael," Sadie repeated. "Michael John Shaynne Curtis Cade."

There were sniffles all around the room. Darry bowed his head and stared at the floor to keep from crying in front of his sister. He didn't want her to think he was trying to steal the day away from her. But that room became a room of honor and tribute. It became a room where the old married the new. There was no going back, but there _was _looking back. And the looking back was already so, so beautiful.

"Dammit, Sadie," Dally said. "See ya didn't leave anyone out."

"Are you _jealous_, Dally?" Two-Bit asked.

"I ain't fuckin' jealous!"

"Dally, man, don't swear in front of the baby," Johnny said.

"There's nothing to be jealous of," Sadie said. "I wanted to give Michael _everybody's _name, but Johnny reminded me he's gotta fit a whole name on a driver's license one day."

"I know how to be practical," Johnny said, and he and Sadie shared the kind of laugh that couples share when one of them said something that wasn't, outside the context of their connection, very funny at all.

"Besides," Sadie said. "We're bound to have more kids."

"You're lyin' in bed, body all traumatized, and you're already thinkin' about havin' _more kids_?" Lilly asked, shocked.

"Of course," Johnny said. "I mean, I don't wanna speak for Sadie, but … _of course_."

"Well, how come?"

Sadie and Johnny exchanged a grin – the kind of grin only the two of them knew how to share.

"Well, look around at us," Sadie said. "Isn't this somethin'?"

And even if no one else took Sadie's advice to look around Lucy did. She saw that room, filled to the brim with nearly everyone she loved, and suddenly, she understood. She would never stop loving these people. Wherever she went and wherever she lived, a small part of her would always sit on the Curtis family couch, watching live musicals with Sadie and Jane and the boys. A small part of her would always be sealed up in the walls of that apartment above the bookstore. A small part of her would always float around this hospital room, remembering the time Sadie brought the first new Curtis into the world and opened up a kind of love they hadn't felt in too many years. It didn't matter where Lucy was. She would always be _here_.

When Sadie was on her feet and moving up and about more often, Lucy would have to tell her all about it.

* * *

A week since Michael's birth passed, and Sadie and Johnny met up with Lucy and Dally at the old Curtis house. They were trying to plan Elenore's second birthday party, though they were still stunned that it had been a year since that first birthday party, when Darry met Lynnie and Lilly made all those remarks about wanting to be a mom. Now that Sadie was a mom, she suddenly understood. It had only been a week, and yet, she was different. Everything was different.

"Ya want me to make the cake again?" Darry asked.

He was in the kitchen, packing a school lunch for Jimmy. The Joneses did not live with him, but he was hoping to convince them otherwise, now that Lynnie's lease was coming to a close. Besides, he had plans.

"As much as I love your cake, I don't think I'll be needing your services this year," Lucy said. "My mother seems really committed to making the cake this year."

"How do ya know she won't flake like she did last time?"

Lucy smiled, thinking of the conversation she'd had with her mother (Esther Bennet) on the morning she tried to leave Dally and Elenore.

"I just know."

Darry nodded and continued to make Jimmy's lunch.

"Well, we can have the party near our place," Johnny said. "My boss is real willin' to lend us his backyard, and he ain't even gonna charge. He says he wants us to have the best time we can. He's got acres back there."

"Thanks, man," Dally said. "I think she'll like that."

He looked down at Elenore, who sat very patiently in her father's lap.

"Ya like that, baby girl?" he asked. "Ya like havin' a party outside?"

"Yeah," Elenore said. "Outside's fun."

"Well, then, outside it is," Lucy said. "I hope it's a nice day. April is such an unpredictable month."

"It is," Sadie said. "And look at us … having our kids in April. What were we thinking?"

"We were thinking summer's a pretty hot time, if you're picking up what I'm laying down."

"Bennet," Dally said, "a baby could pick up what you're laying down."

Lucy rolled her eyes. She turned to Sadie, who seemed to be far away and lost in her thoughts. Lucy was almost certain she knew what Sadie must have been thinking.

"The party's gonna be on the weekend after Elenore's birthday," Lucy said. "Do you think … do you think Soda will be home by then? Do you think he'll be able to come? Meet Michael?"

Sadie smiled sadly and shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know," she said. "He hasn't written me in awhile. Pony said he heard something awhile back, but I … there's no sign of when he's coming home. I don't want to have my hopes up, you know?"

Johnny reached out and took Sadie's hand. She squeezed him for support. It was a terrible thing to be worried about her brother when she had a newborn baby on her lap – one who needed her attention far more than did her absent twin – but she couldn't stop herself. A part of her identity was missing, and she didn't know how to retrieve him. Even in the happiest of times, it was impossible not think of how much happier they would be if Soda were home.

The telephone rang, and Darry answered right away.

"Lucy, did ya know about this rocking horse Elenore likes?" Johnny asked. "Dally took me by to see it at the store. It's real pretty. I feel like we almost gotta give it to her. She loves the thing."

"Does _she _love the thing, or is Dally just impressed by the craftsmanship?" Lucy asked.

If Dally had been a blushing man, he would have turned scarlet at Lucy's question.

"What are you talkin' about?" he asked.

"You _love _stuff like that," Lucy said. "You never admit it because you think it isn't cool, but you love when wood is cut a certain way. You even love _paintings _and _sculptures_. They're just too uncool for you to talk about out loud."

"So you talk about it in front of Sadie and Johnny? Is that what you do?"

"Your secret's safe with me, Dally," Sadie said. "Who would I tell? Johnny's right here, and it's not like I can run to my trustworthy twin. I don't even know where the hell's he's at!"

"What did we talk about, Sadie?" Johnny asked. "We said we were gonna do like Lucy and Dally and cover Michael's ears any time we were gonna swear."

Lucy chuckled.

"Have fun with that," she said. "You'll keep it up irregularly for the first few months, and then you'll drop it. It's too hard.

"Especially living here," Dally said.

And that would have been the perfect segue into Lucy and Dally's secret, which they were desperately wishing to talk to Sadie and Johnny about. It would have been the perfect point to bring it up, but they were interrupted. Darry entered the living room, and everything went quiet. He looked like he was trying his best not to smile.

"What's the matter?" Sadie asked. "Ya look like the Joker."

"I do not," Darry said. "But I do got news."

A panicked hush passed over the living room. Surely, even Elenore and Michael must have felt it. Michael let out a small mewl at the change in his mother's blood pressure, and Elenore clung to her father's arm.

"Well?" Sadie asked. "Is it good news or bad?"

And then, Darry beamed.

"Good."

* * *

**And that was 'See My Friends.' Not a lot of people read it, but the joke's on you – I had fun writing it, anyway!**

**There is one more multi-chap story in this historical period of the characters' lives. I'm sure there will continue to be prequels and midquels, but as for the mainstay in these characters' very young lives, there's just one more, long fic about that.**

**I'm hoping to begin the first chapter of that fic soon. As some of you know, my teaching load **_**tripled **_**this semester, so that makes things a little difficult. But I have enjoyed writing 'See My Friends' so much. I think it might be my favorite story I've ever written, and I've been writing a long time. I hope I continue to feel optimistically about it a year from now.**

**Hinton owns **_**The Outsiders**_**. I once again quote "I'll Be Your Mirror" by The Velvet Underground, which I do not own (obviously). I own … a very happy disposition now that this fic is complete. That's it.**


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